Password: Navarino
by Lani WonderZ
Summary: "Heracles?" He whispered breathlessly. "What?" The Greek growled, heart beating helplessly in his chest. Sadiq's eyes were wide with fear as he leant closer. "Heracles, I really don't want to die."  AU! SadiqxHeracles/ AntonioxLovino
1. Chapter 1

"Get him on screen."

Antonio confirmed the emotionless command of his boss with a brief nod. The green eyes of the Spaniard where practically glued to the monitor in front of him. He was slouching in his swivel chair showing off his usual carelessness as he made jokes and hummed simple tunes from his homeland but it didn't take much to notice the huge amount of tension and anxiety that was constantly growing underneath this relaxed surface. For several seconds the room was filled with nothing but the noise of Antonio's rapid typing and even the man sitting in the back with his hands folded in his lap began to get thrilled.

"I get a signal," The man in front of the computer exclaimed; his voice nothing but a sigh of relief. "He's at the entrance now."

The wide screen that covered the opposite wall flickered to life and then showed the profile of a young Italian that looked rather unhappy. A gun was pointed at his temple and forced him to walk faster. Another person entered the screen; the one aiming at the man. After a few cracking sounds their conversation became intelligible, even though the voices were pretty distorted.

"Your name again." The man holding the weapon muttered and nudged the Italian's head with the iron barrel.

"Lovino Vargas." The man growled for an answer.

"Vargas? Isn't that a Spanish surname?"

"…So what?"

"You said you were from Italy."

Antonio caught his breath and whirled around to stare at his boss in shock. The other man present in the room shook his hand in a reassuring manner and pointed at the screen again. 'Lovino' recovered faster than his partner and now hissed: "I'm from South Italy. A whole bunch of Spaniards moved there. Got a problem with that?"

The Egyptian man escorting him remained silent but shrugged as though he wanted to say that he didn't really care anyway. Then he made a fast gesture with his gun and the duo continued to hurry down the hallways.

The Spaniard leaned back against the backrest of his chair with a low groan. "Well done, Romano." He praised the younger man even though there was no way he could he hear him now. The two spectators watched the swing doors close when the other men on screen entered the council's room. Again Antonio's hands raced across his many keyboards until they froze at once and his whole body turned limp. "I lost 'em…" he informed his superior with a slight frown. At that moment the monitor turned pitch-black.

"It's all up to him now." The Grecian man sitting in the back agreed.

* * *

"Senor Karpusi, I was wondering… What exactly is Romano supposed to do in there?"

Heracles looked up from the coffee machine slowly. He looked as if he wasn't able to stay on his feet for another second without a good amount of caffeine in his bloodstream.

"He is doing what we are always doing, Antonio." He mumbled as he poured himself some of the bitter drink. He gulped it down in few drafts and grimaced at the taste. A visible shudder ran down his spine. The Spaniard watching his back let out a shaky laugh and said: "So he is stealing technology and leeching off money of other countries all by himself?"

It was clearly meant as a joke but the Greek was in no mood for joking and replied: "Exactly." With this he intended to make his exit but before he could turn to leave Antonio had grabbed his shoulder and forced him to a halt.

"You can't be serious. Remember where you sent him. He's not cut out for such things, please reconsider." He begged. Heracles raised an eyebrow sardonically. "I rather think you are not cut out for watching him doing such things. You can't be his guard dog forever." He answered and shrugged off the man's hand. Then he continued with a sharper tone: "It's too late now, anyway. He'll be fine. Now, would you do me a favor? Don't bring your feelings to work tomorrow, will you? After a while it is getting on my nerves."

The Spanish man obviously didn't take that lightly. Heracles wasn't surprised. Antonio was known for being an extraordinarily passionate contemporary. The Greek watched his assistant storm off and growl: "We can't all be emotionally dead, can we?"

He followed him with his eyes until he had shut the door behind him and then shrugged a little. He understood how much the young Italian meant to the Spaniard and he wasn't angry at him for running off like that. Antonio had raised Romano and they had grown very fond of each other during that time, even though Romano wasn't very willing to show that in public. Heracles liked the two of them; they were capable men and had some good connections to the international underworld. Plus, their places had very good food which was why he visited them often.

The last sentence of Antonio bothered him nonetheless.

"Emotionally dead, hm?" he muttered to himself as he strolled down the halls towards his bureau. He didn't want to think of himself that way. He just refused to open up to people. Letting someone inside your heart made things just more complicated. He ought to know, he had made this mistake before. Right on cue the image of a shady figure, blurred and abstract, flashed before his inner eyes. It was the shade of a tall man that smiled down at him with the most wolfish sneer. It was an old memory, the memory of a child, actually, but he still had to fight with all his might against the upcoming turmoil that was sure to follow. He grabbed the knob of his door for support and yanked the door open. That wicked image kept haunting him until his fingers reached the neck of the bottle that had been awaiting his return on the desk. It was just a memory, it couldn't hurt him. Why was he so afraid then? Every time it appeared in some corner of his mind again it became first priority to get rid of it by all means. And things would get worse from now on. He had known that before and then it hadn't bothered him. Now he wasn't that sure anymore. As the memory faded away slowly Heracles relaxed a little.

The Ouzo burnt his throat and there was nothing better in this world right now. He often told himself that he only drank a few glasses to relax after a long day but he couldn't hide from the truth. His first reaction to any kind of trouble had become very predictable over the years. He threw himself on the couch he recently had announced his new sleeping place and moaned into the cushions. His back was killing him. He considered calling for some nice girls to get a good all-inclusive massage but then decided that he was too worn out for such things tonight. He lifted the bottle to his lips again and filled his parched mouth with the clear alcohol again.

'Emotionally dead'…

If only.

* * *

"Is he gone?"

"Left an hour ago."

"What was his name?"

"Lovino Vargas."

"A fake."

Gupta looked up from the paperwork on his desk to gaze at his boss. The tall man at the other end of the room folded his hands in a pyramid-like manner and rested his chin on his thumbs as he watched the shooting of the last three hours on his personal screen. It was impossible to tell what he really was looking at, though, because of the white mask that covered half of his face. The Egyptian tilted his head to the left and asked: "How come that you think so?"

"Well, would you name your child 'Lovino'?" Sadiq Adnan barked a laugh and scratched his chin in a superior manner.

"I don't think I'm qualified for answering such a question, sir." Gupta muttered and had to compose his features in order to not roll his eyes at that childish comment.

"Anyways, why was he here?" The Turk asked now as he leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the desk with a low grunt.

"He was trading money for information." Gupta reported deliberately. His eyes flitted over the papers in his grip.

"And what did we get?"

"Information."

"Such as?" Now Sadiq quitted his casual behavior and straighten up. His black jacket was creased from the long night and had gotten a little out of place. He had taken off his tie hours ago. Why he was dressed so formally Gupta couldn't tell but when he had returned this afternoon he had been very irritated. "He gave us the microchips with the data concerning 'Project Hades'." He told the Turk. "I checked them, there were a few Trojans in them but I could destroy them."

"Did ya gift them with a giant wooden horse?" Sadiq chuckled at his joke and reached across the desk for his pack of cigarettes. His assistant waited in silence until he had found a lighter and was inhaling the biting smoke in deep breaths.

"How much did that cost us?" he sighed.

"Three million US-Dollars."

That caught the Turk by surprise. He nearly jumped to his feet and focused on the pictures in front of him. Three million dollars wasn't such a big deal to him, but the same went for the others. The information they had received tonight was too delicate and essential to throw it around like it was nothing. So it was faked as well. This Vargas kid was a good actor; even tricked him. "Gupta, go and check the chips again. Destroy everything that might not belong in there. No matter how important it seems."

"Do you think we got fooled?" The Egyptian's eyes widened for a second.

"I'm pretty dang sure. We have to find out who that guy is working for." Sadiq cursed under his breath and ran his hand through his hair as he listed the names of his enemies. His thoughts kept spinning around only one individual, though. The face of a young smiling man appeared in his mind and olive green eyes of his burnt themselves halfway through to his heart. He had been such a good boy, a good pet. Sadiq grabbed the mental picture of the man and held it in place, forcing himself to look closer. The relaxed smile on these lips wasn't meant for him. He never had smiled at him, no matter how badly the Turk had wanted him to. Sunlight fell on the dark brown locks that framed his tan face and a gentle gust tousled the hair in a playful manner. For a long time now he hadn't thought of him like this… And he shouldn't start now.

"Sadiq, are you listening?" Gupta's voice tore him away from his little fantasy, even though he spoke as quietly as ever. The Turk needed a moment to arrange his thoughts. He asked: "What were you saying?"

"I said I was just checking the background of Project Hades, sir." The other man was suddenly sitting at his desk with a thin laptop on his knees. "The information Vargas gave us is real. I have succeeded in hacking the international data base." His fingers continued to dance across the keys while he spoke.

"Then it's dispensable. They probably have given up on the project. My friend, you are lacking. You could have hacked them weeks ago." Sadiq reprimanded his inferior, but he didn't pay too much attention. His thoughts still circled around names and faces. Absentmindedly he waggled his cigarette between his fingers and watched the smoke winding its way through the air. The Egyptian just nodded and the pace his hands raced across the board with fastened.

A low sound of discomfort came from the usually so composed African when he opened a new file. Sadiq looked up with raised eyebrows. Before Gupta could say anything he had started his computer and linked the two modems with few clicks. He followed the man's path and no second later opened the same file.

"I think we found our culprit." Gupta muttered lifelessly.

The Turk narrowed his eyes behind his mask as he stared at the blurry photo of a man who just entered a bank followed by two men that were well equipped with all kinds of weapons, even Kalashnikovs. The man himself was unarmed but carried a briefcase with him which's contents most likely could ruin a whole company in no time. He wore a black coat that reached down to his ankles and a white shirt. This picture was a rather hard contrast to Sadiq's portrait of him. He wasn't smiling nor relaxed or happy. He was just cold; cold and determined.

"This makes it complicated…" Gupta muttered under his breath but it wasn't low enough for his boss to overhear it.

"Why would it be complicated now?" he hissed; his eyes practically glued to the photo on his desktop; or rather: Glued to the Greek shown in the photo.

"Heracles always makes things complicated. Especially for you." If anyone other than Gupta had uttered this last sentence they would have had a nice round hole in there forehead by now. The Egyptian was perfect at disguising it but he noticed way too much and Sadiq told him way too much. But the past was the past and had nothing to do with the present.

"Bullshit. We'll face him head on." Slowly reality caught up with him. For years now, Sadiq and Heracles had circled each other without landing a direct hit or opening the fire. The Greek had made the first step tonight. Finally he was within his reach, he could crush him now. A smile spread across the Turk's face. "It's about time."

"Does that mean we're at war now?" His assistant asked, already typing again.

"Yep. Here is our plan: Find his burrow, smoke him out, salvage him, finish him."

"Sounds easy enough." Gupta commented. Sadiq Adnan rose to his feet and took his mask off to enjoy the sight of his enemy to the fullest.

"Let the hunt begin."


	2. Chapter 2

The streets of Athens were filled with people and cars. No one followed particular traffic laws but it somehow seemed to work anyway. Tourists strayed through the city, searching for either their hotel or a restaurant or some random ruins. Among them walked a young cheerful man with tousled brown hair who somehow didn't fit in but wasn't very striking either. After half an hour of aimlessly strolling around he headed for a small airport. When he arrived a wave of foreigners came his way. While he struggled with the mass of people streaming outside a new plane surfaced among the unusual thick layer of clouds. Antonio passed the check-in area and forced his way to the long rows of seats in the hall. Above his head the timetables kept clicking as they changed their inscriptions. One brief glance upwards confirmed what he already knew. Relieved he turned his attention to the exit for the passengers. People were streaming out of it already but the pair of golden eyes he was searching for never came in sight. The Spaniard sat down and crossed his legs, adjusting to a long time of waiting. Romano probably fell asleep in the plane and the stewardesses were having a hard time waking him up right now. Antonio chuckled lightly imagining the Italian man clinging to his seat, snoring and sleep-talking, while a handful of the personnel was shaking and pulling him. Thinking of him also brought back darker thoughts. Two days ago Antonio hadn't had a clue about what was going on and in what a grave danger his Italian friend had been in Turkey. He had been too furious to ask Senor Karpusi about it before but yesterday he finally had been let in on the plan and his anger quickly had faded away to be replaced by excitement. It felt good to finally understand everything. Neither the Spaniard nor his partner had known what purpose all their past work had but now he knew. It was something he actually already had known before. He was still not sure if he should tell Romano about this, though. Antonio couldn't tell how he would react if he learned what he had risked his life for. He was young and hot-blooded. If he rebelled against Senor Karpusi no one would be able to save him. It was half an hour later when the doors opened a last time and Romano entered the hall. He had his hands buried in the pockets of his pants and lowered his head to shield his eyes from the sudden sunlight. Antonio sprang to his feet and practically flew up to the younger man. Then he remembered how much Romano hated it when he hugged him in public and jerked to a sudden stop in front of him. For a second the two of them just stared at each other with expressionless faces. Then Romano muttered: "Are you alone?"

His partner nodded, surprised. "Senor Karpusi allowed me to come here to pick you up."

"So he isn't with you?" he pressed.

"As far as I know."

The next second two arms were wrapped around the Spaniard's torso and an Italian pressed his face to his chest. His whole body was trembling and Antonio could feel his shirt soaking up saltwater. The only thing that was to be heard for a while was the muffled sobs of a crying man. Antonio gave his best to calm him down while he was slowly leading him towards the seats.

"Now, now, it's okay. I missed you, too. Romano, don't cry." He muttered and patted his back. He expected the younger man to smack him now but nothing of that sort happened. He just sobbed louder. They sat down, or in Romano's case: slumped into the chair.

"I was so scared!" He whined and hiccupped desperately. Antonio couldn't do much besides holding him and mumble soothing words every now and then. He was utterly shocked by the open display of emotion Romano showed, to be honest. Not because he cried in public, he did that all the time –which was somehow adorable-, but because he had picked his Spanish friend to be his strong shoulder to lean on.

"It was crazy over there, they…they followed me, a-and then they tried to shoot me." Romano told him through a thick layer of tears.

"They did what? Oh, damn, Adnan must have discovered our little trick sooner than expected if he chased you. Senor Karpusi will be angry." Antonio just had uttered his thoughts without any further meaning to it but it earned him a punch in the ribs, nonetheless.

"How dare you worry about Bastard Heracles' stupid plan when I just told you they almost fucking killed me, you damned asshole!"

The tirades of insults and complains didn't stop until the Spaniard treated his partner to some ice-cream at the Gelateria a few streets downtown.

"You know," Romano muttered while shoveling gelato into his mouth, "Greece sucks at making ice-cream."

"But this is an Italian restaurant." Antonio reminded him softly. They were sitting in a dark corner, far away from the open doors that let in not only the noise but also the heat. The other man shrugged and grumbled something in defense that was too low to understand.

"Now what was Turkey like? Any cute girls?" The Spaniard asked, showing off his usual chipper attitude in order to cheer his friend up. The truth was that he had been very stressed himself. The thought of his little Romano in a far-away country and in the claws of their very enemies still made his stomach turn a somersault. Heracles knew why he had sent him to this mission and Antonio knew as well. The Italian was young and unknown in the criminal world, neither Hassan nor Adnan had ever heard of him. No one but he could have been able to sneak the microchips into their system. Those chips were something Antonio was pretty proud of. He had equipped them with a worm that was not only complex but also difficult to spot in the first place. He trusted Adnan's men to find it, though. Obviously they hadn't disappointed him.

"What do I know 'bout Turkey? I just ran in there, left the chips with those bastards and ran out of there. What do you think? That I was on some kind of vacation, damn it!" The Italian snapped, angrily pushing the cold dessert around in his bowl.

"I'm sorry, of course, you weren't." He muttered but he was already miles away. The main plan had been placing the worm right in front of the Turk's nose so that he had no other chance but notice it. The fact that his men had tried to captivate, if not kill, Romano supported Antonio's assumption that he had found it. The clever thing about this virus was that if you destroyed it, which they undoubtedly had done by now, a hidden spyware got activated and all the data in the computer went non-stop to Senor Karpusi's server. Inserting this software into Adnan's system had been the Italian's actual job. Antonio was proud to say that he had succeeded. Then he remembered the other part of the deal, the little addition, so to speak. "Do you have the money?"

"'Course I have." The other man reached down to the backpack he had thrown away carelessly when he had sat down. He opened it a bit to reveal an unsuspicious silver case inside.

"Nice. All in all, that worked quite well."

"Whatever, you jerk. Let's just ignore that a fucking bullet missed my head by half an inch and that they chased me all the way to the airport and that I had to negotiate with a gun held to my temple and that this weird Egyptian freak looked at me with his creepy sick eyes as though I was a piece of meat, let's ignore all the hardship I went through."

"Yes, let's do that. The best way to deal with such bad experiences is _not _to deal with them." The Spaniard grinned.

All he got for an answer was: "I hate you... so much."

* * *

"Hey, you are with the Greek jerk longer than I am, so you probably know why." Romano said all of a sudden. The two of them were slowly strolling back to the big mansion Heracles Karpusi had chosen to be their hideout.

"Why what?" Antonio asked, utterly confused.

"Why what, why what! Why this! I was totally fine with ruining combines and stealing money from the government, it was kinda fun to forge all those documents Greece sent to the EU, I had no problem with messing with the Yakuza and the Mafia, really, but why are we suddenly focusing on that one Turkish bastard only?" He growled under his breath, lowering his voice even more when they passed a police officer, despite the fact that they weren't speaking Greek but Spanish. The man wasn't even looking their way, probably mistaking them for harmless tourists. As Romano talked his friend's expression darkened. He whispered: "It's a long story." He hadn't expected him to start with that topic again since he was so easy to distract.

"But you know the reason?"

"Sure do… now."

Now it was the Italian's turn to frown. "So just tell me." They had slowed down until the Spaniard didn't even move anymore. He had his hands in his pockets and looked into the skies as though there was an answer to fall right out of those clouds. "I suppose, Senor Karpusi wouldn't care if you knew but I don't feel comfortable with talking about other people's pasts." He sighed.

"Now you listen! I have the right to know what I'm risking my life for… and why!" Romano snarled and grabbed his companion's arm. He dragged the man to a bench nearby the street and made him take a seat. They weren't far away from Senor Karpusi's house and Antonio couldn't quite shake off the weird feeling of paranoia as he looked around. He felt like somewhere a tall brown haired man was standing in the shadows and watching them.

"I suppose you're right. Fine, I'll tell you but not a word to Senor Karpusi, are we clear?" he gave in and leaned back against the bench.

"Don't make such a fuss over it and just get started, damn it."

The Spaniard cleared his throat, trying to recall what Heracles had told him all those years ago.

"As I said, it's a long story and I don't know all of it, anyway… Well, when Senor Karpusi was just a young boy, a child actually, his mother died and he had no one else to turn to. He tried to get by on his own but it was difficult and he couldn't sustain himself properly. He must have been starving. At the age of fifteen he met Adnan," he interrupted himself when he saw Romano's surprised face and added: "Yes, the Sadiq Adnan you met in Turkey.

"Whatever, Senor Karpusi never wanted to tell me about it so I can't say how it happened but in the end he became part of Adnan's gang. He said that all that went against his will but I'm not so sure about it, considering he gave him food and a roof above the head and so on. Anyway, Adnan must have planned for him to become his partner or assistant, otherwise he wouldn't have taught him all the things he did. Everything Senor Karpusi knows he has learned from Adnan." When Antonio paused Romano interjected: "And why the hell does Heracles hate him now if they were such big buddies?"

"Who said they were on good terms with each other? No, they never were, even though Senor Karpusi has hinted that Adnan had been interested in him, in more than one way. I doubt that this feeling was mutual, though. Senor Karpusi had told me how annoyed and crept out he had been by his overtures. All that wasn't that big a deal, though. There had been a tension between them but nothing that could justify the enormous amount of hatred he feels for Adnan. According to Senor Karpusi Adnan behaved like a slave-driver and was nothing but manipulative, condescending and greedy the whole time he had been with him. I have met him in person only once and I can second that, by the way. Plus, he is kind of scary, I can't put my finger on the reason why, but he is. Where was I? Oh, right. For a few years nothing happened between them but the dislike kept boiling and growing underneath. Then one night everything collapsed, something snapped. Every time we talk about that subject, and that isn't often, he continuously blocks my questions about that night. All I know is that Adnan had been terribly drunk and that Senor Karpusi had left him before the next sunrise. He said his shoulder still hurts sometimes from that little encounter so I suppose there was a fight between them. A few weeks later I met him. Now that I think about it, he had a bandaged neck when I first saw him. I wonder why… If it was because of an injury there should be a scar somewhere but on the other hand I never paid too much attention to his neck. –I'm losing track! Ehm, back to the story… What was I…? Oh, right! He 'recruited' me and together we dived into the criminal world. He had some experience, I had some experience and together we managed to build the shady company we all love and live for.

"Two years ago Senor Karpusi mentioned Adnan again and I knew at once that his plan was reaching his peak. He started to work for the one purpose only: Tracking him down. I think the only thing Senor Karpusi ever really wanted was seeing this man dead. All of our work, our stealing, cheating, killing and plotting is only for one goal; Sadiq Adnan's death. I hadn't known about that before so don't look at me like this, Romano. You see, over the years Adnan has become a very powerful man with connections all over the world. You can't just walk up to him and shoot him; you have to plan such things over many years. Mainly Senor Karpusi just did all he could to possess as much power as him in the last years, so that they are equal. That is why he didn't search for him sooner, I guess. But now he had stroke, now we're at war. Something we have been preparing ourselves for since we met, even though we hadn't known that." Antonio took a deep breath. All that talking had made him thirsty. Romano had stared at his hands the whole time without raising his head once but now he glanced at his partner with the words: "You say that as though it was your vendetta."

"Well, Senor Karpusi and I know each other for many years now. And he is our boss. His word is our command, Romano."

"I know, I know. Stop playing the same record over and over. With you it's always 'Boss this, boss that'. I get it. I'm just not sure if I want to die for such a stupid reason. Sorry."

"Who said you will die? Don't be silly." He tried to laugh but it somehow got stuck in his throat. "You did great in Turkey, Romano. Your part is done." He tried to reassure his younger companion.

"What could that Turkish bastard possibly have done that's terrible enough to make someone hold a grudge for such a long time?" He growled and raised an eyebrow, ignoring the compliment completely.

"Mankind has killed for reasons far more trivial than revenge." The Spaniard shrugged. He did have his own suppositions about what happened between the Greek and the Turk that infamous night but he wouldn't talk about such things in public.

"Come on, Antonio, don't treat me like a child, damn it. I know you have at least an idea-"

"Let's go. We have to report that you're back, safe and sound. I bet Senor Karpusi is waiting for us already."

* * *

Heracles didn't look up from the gray fur under his hands when his two assistants entered the room. They didn't pay attention to him; they were all wrapped up in a silly quarrel.

"But Lovino is such a cute name. It suits you, Romano." Antonio said using that wheedling tone of his he thought was appealing.

"Have you lost it? That name sounds totally gay –Don't say a word!"

The Spaniard let out a cheerful laugh and chirped: "From now one that is your nickname. My little Lovino!"

"I'll punch you in the throat…" the Italian dryly replied.

Heracles lowered his head and smiled. His eyes rested on the purring cat in his lap. She stretched under his fingers as he caressed her neck. He was happy Romano was back. Not only did it lift Antonio's mood but it was also awfully quiet around here without him. Then he remembered why the young man had been absent the last days and at once the smile turned upside down.

"How did it go?" he asked instead of a greeting, suppressing the urge to clear his throat. His voice sounded very hoarse. When he raised his eyes to look at the pair he found himself pierced by two long stares.

"Well?" The Greek muttered raising his eyebrows expectantly.

"I'm alive, Adnan has the chips and we have the money. Conclusion: It went okay." Romano listed, counting his fingers.

"Fine. Thank you, Romano, I know you never volunteered to do this but you did an extraordinarily good job over there." Heracles praised him and rose to his feet. He staggered a little due to the sudden shift of perspective but then let the cat jump on his shoulder where she did her best not to fall off. He could feel her claws sinking into his flesh but didn't wince once. He was too amused by the startled look on the other men's faces.

"You're welcome, I guess." The Italian muttered and shrugged. He couldn't see it but Antonio smiled proudly at him. He had something of a mother hen sometimes, didn't he?

"I suppose you are exhausted from the flight. You can take the day off. That's fine, we have to wait for Sadiq's counterstrike anyway." Then Heracles turned around and spread his arms in a triumphant manner. "Antonio," he grinned. "Your chips worked great. Since last night data keeps arriving at my computer. We already have gotten hold of his supply routes and several lists of various companies he is in touch with."

The Spaniard gave him a two-handed thumbs-up and smirked. "It's all a matter of passion, amigo."

"Indeed, it is." His boss replied and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "I can't believe how well everything is going for us. If this continues we'll be rid of that Turkish bastard in no time. I can't wait to see his face, begging for mercy." Heracles giggled and stroked the cat again. His companions remained silence, giving each other meaningful looks.

The Grecian man reeled slightly and grabbed the armrest of the couch he had been sitting in for support. "We have to celebrate, guys. Free booze for both of you!" Heracles cheered and pulled the others into a rather crude hug. Still mumbling and chuckling the tall southerner left the room and slammed the door behind him without any further explanation.

"I don't know about you, but to me he doesn't look like someone who had a hard childhood. He enjoys himself pretty much." Romano said emotionlessly after a while. His friend didn't react for a few seconds. Then he slowly answered: "He enjoys himself too much."

It was amazing how fast the mood of the Latin man could change. More than once the young Italian had been left totally clueless because of the unpredictable behavior of the Spaniard. Antonio wasn't paying attention, though. His eyes never left the two empty bottles that lay under the occasional table next to the sofa.

"What's your problem now? Are you worried about him? Give me a break! Look at that Greek jerk. He's happy!" Romano groaned when he heaved a sigh.

"No," his partner replied and began to clean the room up. "He's not happy, he's just drunk."


	3. Chapter 3

"Fuck him!"  
The next vase shattered against the wall and only missed Gupta's head by inches. The Egyptian didn't even blink. Whenever Sadiq threw a tantrum it was wise to pretend to be invisible. For three entire hours the Turk was rampaging through his mansion now, destroying everything that crossed his path. Gupta silently followed him around, cleaning up the mess his boss was making.  
"That goddamned bastard! I'll rip his sorry head off his shoulders, I'll kill him! I'll… I'll murder him, crush him between my palms, peel his skin off, I'll fucking make him pay!" An old amphora crashed to the floor and the ceramic didn't stand a chance. The African allowed himself a tiny smile. It was more than obvious that Sadiq was utterly speechless due to that cheekiness. Just this morning a distressed young Bulgarian had stuttering reported that a spyware had been located on all of their computers and that they hadn't been able to remove it yet. It was only a matter of seconds for the tan man to realize who was responsible for this.  
"Did you get rid of it yet?" The Turk bellowed, seemingly at no one but thin air. The Egyptian man waiting patiently in the back shook his head but then remembered that his boss couldn't see him from where he was standing. So he added: "No, sir."  
This time Gupta had to duck his head in order dodge the flying furniture. He briefly wondered where the others were. Elizaveta should have returned yesterday night but she hadn't shown up yet. Sadiq obviously had the same thought. "And why are we all alone with that? Don't I have specialists? I remember black-mailing a good dozen of professionals! Where the hell have they taken off to?"  
"Sadiq, calm down already." Gupta sighed under his breath. The Turk was pacing up and down with his hands folded behind his back. He kind of resembled a caged in tiger. At his comment Sadiq jerked his head in his direction and even with the mask obscuring his face you could see the blazing in his eyes.  
"Are you seriously telling me to calm down? You are, aren't you?" he growled and slowly walked up to him until their faces were only half a centimeter away from each other. "Now you listen, Hassan. The day I need advice from an inferior is the day I'll massacre every fucking person in this house, are we clear?"  
Gupta narrowed his eyes for a few seconds and then dutifully replied: "Yes, sir. My humblest apologies."  
The two men stared at each other for a few moments; no emotion was displayed on their faces.  
"Whatever…" At once the intimidating aura of the tall Turk crumbled. He gave the African a tired pat on the shoulder and turned away. "I'm sorry, Gupta. I didn't mean to snap at you like this. I'm just worn out… Leave. …Please."  
"Want me to send in some women, boss?" he half-smiled as he headed for the door. Before he left he could hear Sadiq's half-sincere chuckle and a muttered: "Send Lizzy as soon as she's back."  
Gupta couldn't suppress to answer: "She'd bite your head off." With this he shut the door.

The silence that lay around the mansion was so loud it was pressing on his ears. His steps echoed through the empty halls and he never crossed paths with anybody. The whole place was deserted. Sadiq's house was located not far away from Izmir. It was a big villa that sat right at the foot of a hill. Back in his study he sat down and continued his paperwork. He scribbled a few numbers on the bills and filled in some formulas but he didn't get anywhere with his work. In the end he just followed his thoughts without paying attention to anything. Suddenly Gupta caught himself staring at the map in front of him. Out of a mood he took a pen and drew a red circle around Athens where Heracles Karpusi had been spotted the last time. Sadiq had been eager to find his hideout for months. To think that these two men, who hated each other with the force of thousand suns (so to speak), were separated by the mere sea…  
If someone had asked the Egyptian about his opinion regarding their relationship and that constantly increasing hatred for each other they would have gotten a rather short answer. In his opinion this was a matter of broken hearts. He had been with Sadiq long enough to recognize a pattern. He had been with him long enough to have met Heracles even though it was just a brief moment of name-exchanging. The image he had gotten of the young Greek was a little different from what Sadiq used to say. Despite the Turk's explicit descriptions he hadn't found a real reason to dislike him. Heracles was a thoughtful, friendly man who loved cats and sleeping, at least that's what Gupta remembered. Maybe he had changed, he most likely had. There was no other way to survive here. While the African rose to his feet and headed for the door he kept pondering over the two men's relationship. When they had lived together here in this mansion they had used to avoid each other, but whenever the Greek hadn't been paying attention a very weird smile would spread across Sadiq's face. It had been the same with Heracles. He had never smiled at the Turk but his expression always became very thoughtful when he secretly had been watching him out of a corner or from the other side of the room. The day Heracles had left was the day Sadiq had changed. The Egyptian sat on the small sofa next to the door in his quarters and closed his eyes. He remembered that night very well, especially because it had been so noisy.

_"Don't! Don't come near me! You're pissed! You don't know what you're doing!"  
"C'mon, Heracles… I thought you Greeks are into that kinda stuff."  
A loud thud sounded through the whole house. Gupta looked up from his paperwork with a worried frown. He could hear the voices even though he wished he could turn them out.  
"Let's celebrate a bit, my kitten. Your daddy just has made a lot of money. Come over here."  
"Stop saying such things! What the-"  
"Don't be scared… __You'll like it."  
"No! Don't touch me! Don't-"  
Then there was silence for a few seconds beside heavy breathing and wordless struggling. The Egyptian clenched his teeth and waited. A muffled scream came from the other room, followed by a low groan.  
"Just as I thought…" the dark drunken voice triumphed now."You look so much cuter with something in your mouth."  
There wasn't an answer, only choked sobbing.  
"Now, now, Heracles, my kitten. You're all grown up now, no point in cryin', isser? –Hah, that's better, good boy."That was followed by a variety of many different sounds Gupta never wanted to hear.  
"Go to hell!" the other voice suddenly bellowed and a vase shattered. The Egyptian's stomach turned a somersault when he heard someone vomiting. A man coughed violently and then yelped as though someone had pulled at his hair rather crudely.  
"A weak stomach is no excuse, you brat! ...Get your little ass back here. I'm not done with ya."  
Gupta tried his best to shut the noises out but it was impossible. A small part of him wanted to help the poor kid that was being tortured next door but he couldn't bring himself to move. So the crying and begging and moaning went on. Another scream tore through the house. It was filled with helpless pain and utterly shocked.  
"You're killing me! Why are you doing this? Stop it, stop! I'll do anything!"  
"I know you will."  
Things seemed to settle down now because the screaming died down to an exhausted gasping and sobbing. A low voice now croaked: "It's been going on for too long, Heracles. Do you have any idea what it feels like? Having you by my side every fucking day without being able to touch you? You belong to me."  
"No, no…No, please… Why are you doing this to me? I'm begging you, stop!"  
The interesting thing was that not once Heracles screamed for help. The whole time he was begging and crying he never seemed to hope for rescue. The humiliation probably was too much. He couldn't even blame him for that. It was a very dark night in the mansion of Sadiq Adnan. Just when the Egyptian thought it was finally over a shot was fired, followed by a surprised cry. He jerked upwards and stared at his door, half expecting someone to burst into his room, half waiting for an appropriate reaction from the other party.  
"You little-! You could've killed me, you asshole!"  
"I won't miss again!"  
"So you're serious about that, eh? I actually wanted to play with ya a little longer, but fine!"  
More noise, more struggling, more screaming and then the sound of a fluid splashing all over the floor.  
"Good riddance, my little kitten!"  
The last thing Gupta remembered was the sound of breaking glass and the mad laughter of a Turk. _

Sadiq yawned and zapped through the channels. He was bored but too lazy to do anything. He actually just waited for his men to freaking fix the computers already. For a few minutes he listened to two politicians who discussed the pros and cons of entering the EU. The whole subject was irrelevant in his eyes. After all, they didn't let Turkey enter, did they?  
He blindly groped for the bowl of candy standing next to him and appreciatively fed himself some Turkish honey. He smacked his lips with relish and sank back against his couch again. He looked up when someone knocked at the door. Before he could raise his voice a young brown haired woman with fair skin and green eyes entered and swiftly closed the door behind her. He straightened up a little as he his hand jerked towards the gun that waited patiently next to the remote control.  
"At ease." The newcomer told him and casually walked up to him.  
"Elizaveta, don't just burst in like that. I could have been-"  
"Masturbating?"  
"-Busy."  
She smiled sweetly and forced her long mane into a messy ponytail. "I'm sorry for the delay." She said, yet didn't give an explanation. Sadiq didn't want to hear it anyway. The fact that she was back meant that things were getting started. He watched the Hungarian assassin sitting down and then started: "Have you heard of it?"  
"Be more specific. Do you mean Heracles Karpusi's first open attack at us? Then yes." She answered and pulled her thin eyebrows together. At the short nod of the Turk she sighed. "Let me guess, now you want me to hunt him down for you, am I correct?" Her sarcastic attitude often amused him but not today. He shook his head and muttered: "I want to kill him with my own hands. He deserves that much."  
"How very generous of you. So, if you don't want me to get rid of him why did you call me here? I could have spent another day with my husband." She pouted and folded her arms before her chest.  
"Does that mean you're still with that four-eyed Austrian? I thought you had better taste." Sadiq grumbled jokingly and took another candy.  
"Focus, Adnan." She growled. When it came to Roderich Edelweiß she really didn't know any friends. She was actually pretty protective over him, for some reason. The Turk dropped the topic; after all he needed her to do a job. "He has free access to all our data now, unnecessary to mention that we made a total fool of ourselves. This was obviously just the prelude. We have to discourage him. We can't touch him yet but we must prove that he can't fuck with us like this. So I'd say just kill one of his underlings. I know him, he will feel guilty."  
"Just to play some mind-games you want me to kill a human being?" Lizzy snarled indignantly. In response Sadiq gave a dark chuckle and shrugged. "I'd prefer the word 'punishment'. He has to see that his actions have consequences, just like a spoiled brat." He told her with a gleeful smile.  
The Hungarian didn't look convinced but before she could think it over her training kicked in. "How much are you willing to pay for some random minion's death?" she purred and ran her fingers through her thick brown hair. At that Sadiq frowned. "Didn't we agree that you kill people for free when I ask you to do it?"  
"That's what you said. I never agreed. You know me, Sadiq. I might be expensive but you can be sure that someone is dead afterwards." She said with a wink.  
"Okay, okay. What's your price?" he gave in. There was no point in arguing with a hired knife. She seemed to need a moment to think about it. "You're in for three hundred thousand Euros."  
Sadiq nearly choked on his candy. "Have you lost it?"  
"C'mon, the Euro is practically melting right now. That's pretty cheap, you know?"  
Still a little mistrusting he shrugged and straightened up in his seat. It wasn't that much money she was talking about, actually. He finally said: "Alright, you'll get the money. Now for your job. We only know one of his co-workers, a young Italian named Lovino Vargas. He's the one."  
The woman smiled a deadly smile that gave her the look of a hunting lioness. "I never got to kill an Italian. He'll never see the sunrise again."

* * *

The knocking at the door nearly made his head explode. He would have barked to leave him alone but that had meant to cause more noise. So all Heracles Karpusi replied was: "Hnnng…!"  
In came a sprightly Spaniard who was grinning from ear to ear. "Good morning, Senor Karpusi!" he chirped and opened the curtains abruptly. Glaring sunlight invaded the room and filled every corner with piercing brightness. Ignoring the protesting moans of the Greek completely Antonio pulled the blanket away. It was a well-known fact that he enjoyed nothing like torturing his boss in the early morning, that was Heracles' opinion, at least. "Senor, did you sleep with your clothes on, again?" The other man sighed.  
All he got for an answer was mumbled gibberish. He tapped his boss on the shoulder to make him respond but the Greek just tried to hit him. Due to this Heracles lost his balance and fell off the couch he had been sleeping on. He landed flat on his face and groaned in an appropriate manner. He didn't move, though, figuring that this way the sun couldn't shine on his face and worsen this mother of all headaches he was facing right now. He could feel the tip of a shoe nudging his ribs. "Senor Karpusi, why don't you sleep in your bedroom? That's more comfortable."  
"That's my business, Antonio. Leave…"  
"Oh no, Senor. I came here to wake you up." Said it and began to shove Heracles into a sitting position; while this one did his best to make it as difficult as possible. He slumped into the Spaniard's arms and quitted moving altogether. This situation wasn't that uncommon in the Greek's household. Heracles was known for being very uncooperative when he was having a hangover. After some struggling and a bit Greek swearing he was on his feet and stared at the wall as if he wanted to melt a hole into it. The whole time Antonio buzzed around him, trying to fix his clothes and make something acceptable out of his hair that looked more like a haystack right now. The days always started like that for the Greek, even though Antonio usually chattered about Romano, tomatoes, Spain or whatever else crossed his mind at the moment. Today he was rather reticent.  
"Something bothering you?" Heracles asked half-heartedly. The other man knotted his tie and smoothed his shirt without looking at him. Then he sighed: "I'm a little worried about Romano…" Ah, here it was.  
"How come?" Heracles inquired as he opened the door and waited for the Spanish man. They left the room and walked down the dark hallway. Their steps echoed multiple times before fading away.  
"He should have arrived an hour ago." Antonio said with a frown. His boss, feeling very social today, patted his shoulder carefully and asked: "Did you call him?"  
"Two times already, he's not answering."  
"He's probably just oversleeping." He reassured him and turned the corner. The Spaniard was right behind him and still mumbled something under his breath.  
The tech lab was deserted, as it always was in the morning. Heracles would have liked to have breakfast first, especially when work, or rather Antonio, forced him to be up at such a ridiculously early time.  
The Greek scratched the back of his head lazily and sat on the counter of the Spaniard's desk. This one was already busy typing on the several keyboards for his three computers. It was always astonishing to see Antonio with his technology. When watching his fingers dancing over the keys while he hummed a lively tune and tapped his foot to the beat it was hard to believe that his job was difficult. It probably had something to do with the Latin man's attitude. To him it was a game, either you won or you lost, it depended on how fast you could think and react. Now it was a distraction to him, though. When everything was ready Heracles said: "Show me the last activities of Adnan. I want to know how he's progressing with destroying that virus." He stood up again and sat down in the black armchair that was waiting for him in the dark back of the long room. Two rows of desks were framing the wide aisle that started at his desk and ended at a huge monitor that hung from the ceiling. From his seat he could see the whole room as if it was his very own kingdom he was looking down on. There were days he embraced that thought, lived in that fantasy of him being a king. Kings didn't need to bow down to any law or power, did they? It was that kind of freedom Heracles desired. He had craved it for as long as he could remember. Sometimes he felt as if he was the personification of his beloved motherland. It was freedom he took pride in and it was this pride that justified his actions. The impressed whistle of a Spaniard shook him from his thoughts.  
"They're pretty fast." Antonio commented before explaining what was going on. "It appears they have already located and blinded our spyware."  
"Which means?" The Greek asked.  
"We don't have that much of an advantage anymore." the Spanish man grumbled, obviously annoyed by the failure of his programs. Both knew that this had been just a matter of time, though. Sadiq was a bit ahead of schedule, but it was nothing to worry about. He just wanted to tell his friend exactly that when he stopped and examined Antonio's face that was reflected on the screen of his computer. He was gnawing his lower lip with a frown, distress clearly displayed on his features. Heracles knew that grimace; the Spaniard wore it whenever a certain South Italian wasn't present. That kid really meant a lot to him, didn't he?  
The Greek leaned back and remained silent. The relationship between these two men often altered from familial affection to romantic love and back. It was confusing, but it wasn't like Heracles paid much attention to their flirtations and lovers' quarrels. He didn't mind them as a couple, if they even were one, but he really didn't want to see or know anything too explicit. He couldn't help it. The thought of two men together like that scared him beyond compare. He knew that this was ridiculous. He also knew why he felt that way and therefore he did his best to avoid thinking about anything concerning this topic. Just when that thought crossed his mind the picture of a smiling man flashed up before his eyes. It was the same image as always. The tall dark man was sneering at him from above, hand stretching out towards him as an invitation. This was merged together with another memory, a darker one. The same man, now towering over him, caging him with his body, resembled a big black cat that was just about to lung at its unfortunate prey. Thus those two pictures formed a rather disturbing collage that was burnt into his brain, and like a scar, would never fade away.  
"Senor Karpusi?" Again he was torn away from his thoughts, this time he was nothing but grateful. A little confused though, he looked at Antonio. This one just nodded downwards. "Your hands…" he said. Heracles lowered his gaze to see that his fingers where clawing the counter of his desk, knuckles turned white. He forced himself to let go and instead reached down to one of his drawers. His motions became rather mechanically, as if he had done this a thousand times, which was actually true. He grabbed the hipflask inside and began to unscrew it with hectic hands. He opened his mouth, ready to wrap it around the cold chrome of his bottle. His tongue itched forward, anxious to feel the burning sensation of the alcohol.  
"Senor…"  
He hesitated, eyes still fixed on the hipflask. "What?" he growled hoarsely. His throat felt as though he just had swallowed a gallon of sand.  
"I hate to interrupt but-"  
"If you hate it don't do it."  
The Spanish man suddenly stood up and walked purposefully up to his boss. "You're drinking too much lately."  
That comment finally made Heracles look away from the bottle and at Antonio. He was still searching for words when the other continued: "You drink every night, you barely eat anything. I know how hard it is for you to deal with Adnan but this is getting ridiculous."  
For a few second no one spoke, then the Greek lowered his hand and put the bottle back on the table. He gave a somewhat outraged chuckle and mockingly asked: "What makes you think that bastard could affect me in any way?"  
"Senor Karpusi," the voice of his friend dropped an octave, now soft and calm. "Heracles, how could it be something else? After all you went through because of him... It would only be human."  
Green eyes bored into each other. Then the taller southerner straightened up in his seat. "I don't need your talk-show-psychology, Antonio. Go back to work." He muttered but didn't touch his hipflask again. The Spaniard nodded contently and turned away. He didn't really want to be the one to confront Heracles with his problems, anyway. He should keep an eye on the situation, though.  
"Geez, there you are!"  
The two men froze and simultaneously reached for their guns under their desks. Then both relaxed when they recognized the newcomer. Out of the corner of his eye Heracles could see the relieved smile that stretched all over Antonio's face.  
"Romano!" he exclaimed and practically threw himself at the younger man. This one really had no chance to escape. Strong Spanish arms embraced his middle and lifted him off the floor. The Italian obviously wasn't as happy about their reunion. "Holy fuck, Antonio! Let me down! You bastard, don't! Let me- Hey!" Indeed, the overjoyed Spaniard didn't let go. He kept hugging Romano, probably determined to squeeze him to death. Heracles laughed out loud. That scene was just too funny.  
"I was so worried, why didn't you answer my calls? You could have been dead!" Antonio half-bellowed his accusations-slash-worries-slash-questions-slash-relief into his partner's ear while trying to break every bone in his body. This went on for another two minutes before Romano finally succeeded in breaking from the Spaniard's hug. He stumbled away and had to grab the doorframe for support. Now the Greek in the back raised his voice, "Why the delay?"  
"Huh?" The Italian stared at his boss with incredulous golden eyes. "What the hell? I told you I'd introduce my brother today. It's not my fault he overslept."  
While the Greek just kept gazing at him in confusion Antonio's forehead met his palm. "I totally forgot!"  
"Don't tell me, Signore Obvious!" Romano spat. He turned to Heracles and put his hands on his hips. "You were the one who wanted to recruit new people, dammit. Now I'm all social and helpful and you don't even acknowledge it."  
"And why didn't you answer your mobile phone?" The Spaniard pouted and folded his arms.  
"Because I forgot it at home." He shrugged casually. Heracles now copied Antonio's move from before and pressed his face to the palm of his hand. This was his crew…!  
A sharp whistle called for his attention again. "Want me to bring him in?" Romano asked with a slight frown on his face. The other two nodded, exchanging a lasting gaze.  
The Italian went outside for a second and then returned with another man in tow. That one was a little smaller than him and also had a lighter hair color. His eyes had the same shade of gold, though, and they flitted from one corner to the other in their sockets. Seeing how nervous the young guy was, Heracles plastered a friendly smile on his lips and stood up to greet the new arrival. "_Kallimerá_. I'm Heracles Karpusi and that's Antonio Carriedo. I heard you want to join our little gang?" He winked, but it wasn't meant for the Italian. At once the Spaniard turned around and sat down in front of his computers again.  
The new one froze. He opened and closed his mouth several times without words coming out, until his big brother gave him a good punch in the ribs with his elbow. "Ouch! I mean: Yes!...Sir!"  
Before replying anything he shot Antonio a short glance. He saw the data that raced across the monitor but it went too fast for him to decipher anything of value. So he just trusted the Spaniard to find out everything about this stranger. The two brothers still stood in the entrance, Romano protectively towering up behind…  
"What's your name?" The Greek inquired, giving the young man a searching look as if his name was hidden somewhere in those golden eyes. The intense stare seemingly scared the poor kid beyond compare for he did nothing but stare back and stammer single syllables. That pitiful act was interrupted by his big brother who wordlessly gave him a good hit on the head. That somehow broke an inner barricade. An endless swarm of words broke from between his lips, and he began to wildly gesticulate. Antonio and Heracles just looked at the young man in utter perplexity. He was talking too much, he was talking too loud and he was talking too fast for them to understand, plus: He was talking Italian which neither of them could speak. Before the Greek could say something to stop that sheer overwhelming amount of noise caused by the newcomer, that nearly made is temples explode, Romano suddenly chimed in. A Spanish hand patted his shoulder and Antonio said with a grin: "They may be loud, but they are capable." His boss grunted, eyes locked on the yelling duo. "Just make them shut up or I'll eat a bullet."  
"Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?" The Spaniard chuckled and innocently stepped right between the fighting brothers. While the three tried to drown out each other's voices Heracles covered his ears with his hands and leaned back in his chair. He was tired, he had a headache and he just didn't want to deal with anything today. But he had to.  
"Romano, you brought him here. Is your brother cut out for this?" he sighed without trying to make himself be heard. In contrast to what he had expected the three Mediterranean men grew silent at once, six eyes staring at him.  
"Yes, he is. He is a little dumb but he learns fast and can obey commands." He nodded.  
"Will you tell me your name now?" the Greek asked quietly, figuring that as long as he kept his calm everyone else did, too.  
"I'm Feliciano Vargas." The kid answered.  
"Before anything else," Heracles folded his fingers and rested his chin on them. "Do you understand that there is no guarantee for you to survive this?"  
Just as expected, he turned white as a piece of chalk. Romano and Antonio's expressions darkened as they waited for Feliciano's answer. The Greek narrowed his olive green eyes and corked an eyebrow.  
This time his older Italian remained silent, waiting for his kid brother to make up his mind. Somewhere in those golden eyes there was a hint of worry well hidden behind emotionless expectation.  
"I understand."


	4. Chapter 4

He felt a hand hesitatingly pushing against his chest and stopped. Antonio couldn't quite hide the disappointed flicker in his eyes as he slowly backed away. His fingers still lingered on the soft skin, feeling the rhythmic shifting of muscles beneath his fingertips. He allowed himself one last longing caress of Romano's belly and then finally released the panting Italian from his passionate embrace. At once the younger man turned away, embarrassed by his own arousal. He shivered a little, even though it wasn't cold at all, rather stuffy and hot. The Spaniard smiled softly while his friend took his time to calm down. He didn't want to push Romano, so he never complained about him ending things way too soon, yet he couldn't help his former curiosity morphing into impatience. Every time they were together in privacy he went a little farther, let his hands wander deeper, brought himself closer to him. Of course, that didn't slip Romano's attention. Sometimes, when Antonio got too excited, too lost in the moment, he would put a stop to it and hurry to make room between them. That was what just had happened. It always hurt to get rejected but fortunately the Spanish man was an expert when it came to cover up his real feelings with a cheerful smile. So he smirked and said: "You did very well."

Romano just shrugged; his cheeks flushed bright red when he glanced over his shoulder. There was nothing in this whole world that could be compared to the look in the Italian's eyes. Antonio could feel his heart picking up speed again as he continued to stare into those big golden seas, all too willing to drown in them. The sheer honesty and insecurity displayed on his face nearly made him leap at the Italian again. Since he couldn't do that without scaring him and receiving several hits on the head, Antonio carefully reached out to touch Romano's chin. This mere contact of skin was enough to electrify both of them. As intimidated as the Italian was by his just recently discovered sexuality, he couldn't deny that the proximity of the Spaniard had a major effect on him. That was also the reason he didn't want his friend to hug him in public. But they weren't in public now…

Following his silent request Romano turned around until the two men were face to face again. He half-closed his eyes, head reeling, and leaned closer. He cupped the Spaniard's face with his hands, barely touching him and ignored the surprised expression on his face. Then he brought his lips down on his, a pleased smile twitching in the corner of his mouth. He cherished these times when he finally could be himself and let his guard down. There was no one but Antonio who could make him feel that safe, not his brother and certainly not his boss. Their kiss was very innocent, a mere stroking of their lips, but it was so oh so sweet. He would never admit it, but it was those kisses he enjoyed the most. He couldn't express his feelings in any other way so he gave his entire being to this simple contact. He felt the Spaniard smiling against his mouth and retreated. Just when he wanted to say something an annoying voice sounded through the villa of Heracles Karpusi.

"Fratello!"

"Dammit, that's Feliciano."

"I guess so…"

He couldn't be far away judging by the loudness of his shout. At once Romano was on his feet and rearranging his clothes, calling out: "What do you want?"

Antonio didn't bother to fix his appearance, he often looked a little messy. The door opened and filled the room with bright daylight that had been shut out before by the thick curtains neither of them had needed to be pulled aside. In the frame stood a young man with chestnut brown hair that looked around innocently. "Brother, what are you two doing in here?"

"Talking about tomatoes." His elder sibling hurried to reply matter-of-factly, but he had hesitated for a split-second. Feliciano raised an eyebrow questioningly but didn't point out the clear lie. Instead he chirped: "Tomato sauce goes great with pasta!" He announced that as though he just had found a cure to AIDS. He really wasn't the brightest light in the chandelier. Antonio and Romano exchanged a brief glance and then shrugged simultaneously.

"So what do you want?" the Italian repeated his question from before. The chances were fifty-fifty that his younger brother had already forgotten why he had been searching for them. But he seemed to remember the reason. With his thumb he pointed over his shoulder, "Mr. Karpusi wants to talk to you. He said it was important."

The Spaniard rose to his feet, a hard gleam in his eyes. "If he says so it is important. Come, Romano."

"Yeah, yeah…" the man grumbled in response and followed his friend when he darted out of the room. He walked sluggishly, with his hands in his pockets and a pout on his face. Whenever Heracles whistled Antonio, his lap dog, would jump, wouldn't he? He knew that the wave of jealousy that hit him was unnecessary and childish but he couldn't do much about it. Ever since Antonio had found him in the orphanage and taken him home they had been together. It was still not clear how the Spaniard had managed to achieve the custody. At the time Romano had been twelve years old and he seventeen. Feliciano had been given away already, with five years, just one year after their parents' demise, he went to live somewhere in East Germany. There he had been raised No one had wanted to adopt the older brother, though. He could even remember the list of reasons the people gave when they had been asked about it. He was too loud, he was too cheeky, he was too unsocial and he just wasn't as adorable as Feliciano. Despite all that the Spaniard hadn't needed a second to make up his mind. So it was only natural that Romano wanted Antonio all for himself, as when he had been a child. At the time he already had been working with Heracles but he never had prioritized anything above his charge's well-being. Well, that had been back then, after all.

When Romano entered the tech lab Heracles and Antonio were all caught up in their discussion already and neither raised his head when he arrived. They were staring at the small monitor by the Greek's desk and furrowed their eyebrows in unison. But it wasn't their worry that made the Italian's stomach turn a somersault, it was flicker of fear in their eyes. He hurried to their side to see what could cause such a reaction from the two men. On the screen the footage of a security camera was running. It showed some airport and judging from the Cyrillic signs in the background it was in Greece. A young attractive woman with long dark brown hair just entered the screen; a simple suitcase in her hand and a self-confident smile on her lips. The camera slowly followed her path as if someone was steering it, which was probably the case. There was nothing unsettling about it, though.

"Cute" Romano commented. "Who is she?"

Heracles tilted his head towards him and then answered: "Her name is Elizaveta Héderváry. And she's here."

The way he said the last part sent a shiver down the Italian's spine. Once again he scrutinized the woman that now was about to leave. At his puzzled expression Antonio explained with a stern voice: "She is an assassin, Romano, one of the best. As far as we know she often works for Adnan. The fact that she's in Greece can't mean anything good."

"Do you think she's here to kill you?" Romano arched an eyebrow and looked from Antonio to Heracles. It wasn't uncommon for people to send killers over in order to get rid of the Greek. They never were a problem to him, especially because no one knew where he lived. For all the authorities knew this mansion was owned by a German technology company.

"I don't think she's after me." The Greek muttered and ran his hand through his hair.

"You are the only one they've seen in person so far. We believe she's out to get you, Romano…" While he spoke the Spaniard paled. His fingers clawed the backrest of Karpusi's chair as he stared at the younger man with expressionless eyes. The Italian returned the gaze, mouth suddenly dry. He felt his heart beating furiously, outraged, disbelieving in his chest.

"W-What do you mean? Me…? But I…" Besides meaningless stammering there was nothing he could say.

"We could be wrong, though. There is a chance that she isn't here because of any of us." Heracles now shrugged half-heartedly. He didn't believe in his own words, to be honest. Antonio opened his mouth to confirm the comment but before one sound could leave his mouth Romano stormed off. He didn't stop when they called him back and didn't stop when he nearly ran into his brother who came his way. He stamped onward without looking back, practically running for cover. There was a small bathroom to his left and he yanked the door open without thinking twice. He locked it swiftly and then sat down, leant against the wall. In this business you couldn't waste time with being shocked, you had to realize everything at once. So the Italian hit the back of his head against the hard ceramic tiles, biting his tongue to stifle his sobs. His eyes were burning and his breath came fast and heavy. It was one thing if they were out to kill Heracles, that wouldn't be that much of a problem to Romano but this… He didn't feel as though he was making a scene; not at all. Somewhere out there was someone who wanted to see him, no one but him, dead. All that was that bastard Heracles' fault! Because of him he was sentenced to death!

He knew from the start that he shouldn't have expected to survive but now, that it was somewhat finalized and a well possible outcome he realized that he really, really didn't want to die.

* * *

"I better talk to him…" Antonio whispered. His boss nodded without turning his face away from the monitor. He heard the steps of his friend disappear as he hurried down the halls after the Italian. He had expected the young man to react like that but it still got to him. For the past week he had waited for Sadiq's answer full of impatience, and that was the way the Turk chose to reply? Such a cheap and dirty trick sure fitted into his personality, though. Instead of coming out to meet his end like a man he sent someone else to do the work for him. Heracles stood up and turned the screen off. Antonio would take care of Romano, calm him down or whatever he was doing. A subtle throat-cleaning made the Greek look up. Feliciano Vargas, the newest member of his little club, was standing in the doorframe, a troubled expression on his face. For a few seconds the two men just stared at each other, neither willing to break the silence. "What?" Heracles barked indignantly. He hadn't the nerve to deal with trivialities now. The next second he regretted his reaction. The boy probably was worried about his brother and wanted to know what was going on. The Italian yelped at his shout and ducked his head a little. "What will happen to Romano?" he asked quietly, yet not without faltering. Obviously he had heard most of their conversation.

"As far as we know soon someone will try to kill him, Feliciano."

"But… why?"

He folded his hands in his lap and lowered his gaze as he thought about how much he could tell him. The Greek didn't move but said: "Because we are fighting a very evil person. Actually, your brother has nothing to do with it, yet Sadiq Adnan wants to see him dead. I'm sorry."

"What kind of person would do such a thing?" Feliciano whispered, staring blankly ahead.

"Adnan is a very, very sick man who needs to be put down like a wild dog. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yeah, but…"

Heracles gave him a warm smile that didn't reach his eyes and interrupted him softly. "Now, now, we'll do everything we can to protect your brother. Just promise me something."

The Italian looked up with his confused wet eyes. "What…?"

The helpless expression on his face nearly made the Greek reach out to touch his shoulder comfortingly, but then he changed his mind. Instead he whispered, using his most persuading voice: "You have to promise me that you will help me against all those evil persons. We have to put a stop to them, Feliciano, so your brother can't be harmed by them, especially Sadiq. You understand that they need to be punished, don't you?"

"Y-Yes, I understand that… sir." He stuttered, insecurity plain to see on his face. The sudden advance of his boss startled him. But he didn't want Romano to get hurt and neither did he want that individuals like this Adnan could do whatever they wanted without facing the consequences. Even though Feliciano was very easy-going himself he would never put up with someone getting away with crimes like murder. It seemed Heracles shared his opinion and if it was for the sake of making this world a better place he would do his best to help him.

"Will you make that promise? It would be our own little pact to protect the ones we love. That way I will know that I can trust you and you can trust me. We will fight those evil-doers together." The words rolled over the Greek's tongue like a lullaby, hypnotic and intoxicating. The young Italian gazed at the taller man with big eyes and then nodded. The request still seemed a little odd but the Greek's voice calmed him down and chased his worries away. "I promise to help you with all my strength." Feliciano vowed and gave a tiny smile hoping the other would return it. He didn't but tousled his hair a bit, missing the striking curl at the side of his head by half an inch, and said: "Good boy, now I have faith we can defeat those bastards who want to harm your dear big brother and my close friend. Now, go and search for him. He will need your support for the next days."

The Italian nodded, relieved and even a little proud, and left the room. Heracles flinched a little when he shut the door close behind him. Then a grin flickered in the corners of his mouth. Who would have thought that it could be so easy to replace an underling? One brother died and the other took his place, it was the circle of life or something. Heracles had dealt with the Hungarian assassin known as Elizaveta Héderváry before and knew how rarely one of her victims escaped. He was familiar with her record. For the past five years not one survived her visit. He often regretted that he had hesitated at first and that she now was almost an established part of Sadiq's group. She was still as corrupt as any assassin these days but still…

All in all, Romano's time was up. He would miss the kid, he was amusing. Plus: He didn't even want to imagine the next months with a grieving Antonio around. He stifled a groan and got up. For the next hours nothing would change so he could as well take a walk outside. He missed the warm afternoon sun shining on his face and the creeping heat that slowed down your body altogether until you could do nothing else but lie in the shadows beneath an olive tree and doze. He left through the back door and when he stepped outside he instantly took his suit off. He hadn't noticed it was already June. Heracles left it by the entrance and began to stroll down the street. His feet reliably steered him through the familiar streets, passed stores and restaurants and made way for excessively excited tourists until he found himself near the metro station Acropolis. With his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the ground he wandered aimlessly through the countless lanes and alleys of the _Plaka._ The narrow streets and high rows of buildings that enclosed the tiny souvenir shops and snack bars threw giant shadows on the pavement. After a few minutes he decided that he was hungry enough to eat something. The good bars were still closed so he would just settle for some souvláki. He groped for the coins in his pocket and slowly counted his money. Despite the huge amount of valuables he possessed, divided on more than hundred banks all over the world, he carried rather little cash around. After he bought his lunch he sat down on a bench near a small chapel. Its façade was already a little tarnished and weather-beaten but with the trees, which branches were heavy with fragrantly blooming flowers that surrounded it an atmosphere of faith and vitality was the major impression people got from it. While chewing on the juicy lamb meat deliberately he let his eyes wander across the crowd. Without his doing his thoughts returned to the young Italian that was about to face his end. Maybe Romano was expecting some encouraging or reassuring words from his boss or the promise to protect him. But maybe, and this was more likely, he was mad as hell at him. Of course he felt bad for him and didn't want him to die, but what could he do? Heracles had to juggle about a hundred things at once in order to survive; he had neither means nor time to help the Italian, as well. He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the small hand that sneaked into the pocket of his pants. He grabbed it and held it in an iron grip before even turning his head around. With eyes as green as a rainy forest and as cold as ice he glared down at the tiny figure that writhed in his grasp. It was a young boy that squealed and whined, desperate to escape the man's clutch.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled under his breath. The child couldn't be older than ten but there was a hard gleam in his eyes that proved he had seen better times. It was probably a stray that tried to survive by pick-pocketing. The Greek towered over the boy, still not letting go of his wrist. He squeezed it a little causing the kid to yelp in pain.

"No, no! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Forgive, forgive!" he screeched in broken Greek. "Hungry much, no money! Üzgünüm!"

As if the youngster's skin suddenly had caught fire Heracles let go of him what caused the child to trip, fall to the ground and there start crying. A rather incredulous expression on his face he squatted down next to the boy and grabbed his collar to provide him from escaping. "Where are you from?" Normally he wouldn't have made such a fuss over it but with Sadiq closing in on him he couldn't take any risks. It would be like him to use a child for… well, whatever his retarded mind had thought up.

"Üzgünüm, üzgünüm, sorry, sorry, sorry. Don't hurt!" the child sobbed and tried to pull Heracles' hand away.

"Shut up!" Heracles barked and at once the chants for forgiveness stopped. Then he repeated his question, now a little calmer: "Where are you from, boy?"

"C-Cyprus."

This wasn't a very specific answer but since the kid could speak Turkish, probably even as his first language, the man simply assumed he was from the northern half of the island.

"You are alone, aren't you? Why are you here if you're from Cyprus?" Heracles asked and shook him a little. Besides a few whimpers the boy didn't reply anything. Heracles stood up and stared at the crouched figure in front of him, finally taking a closer look at him. He obviously was starving, his cheekbones stood out against the ailing skin of his face and his arms were too thin to match his stature. Tears were still running down his cheeks and his torso trembled with breathless sobs. Heracles tilted his head to the left with a frown. That was probably what he had looked like when that bastard Sadiq had found him, even though he had been a bit older back then. He remembered all too well how hungry he had been. Every crumb on the ground had been a feast to him, every projection of a roof had been a home, every stray cat a family member. The child probably felt the same way. The Greek man gave his best to fight the sudden pity that rose within him as he gazed down at the foreign boy who was still cringing at his feet. He knew how it felt to be all alone, with no one to rely on and no one to protect him, children shouldn't feel that way. The crowd began to notice their little encounter and murmurs got louder. Heracles paid no heed to their comments and questions. He could save the boy, he could give him a home and food, a life. He could do it, he just had to hold out his hand to him, he knew the kid would take it, gladly. Just as gladly as he had taken Sadiq Adnan's hand. Heracles just had to offer it with a smile and the boy would take his hand and his help. The same thoughts seemingly crossed the child's mind. When Heracles remained silent he looked up to him with an almost hopeful expression on his dirty, skinny face. Yes, he could save this unfortunate life if he wanted to. The Greek straightened up and with the most indifferent expression the tall man turned around and left the poor, hungry boy on the ground behind. He remembered the skewer in his hand, one last piece of souvláki was still speared on it. He put his other hand in his pocket and sank his teeth into the delicious meat. He was already full but he didn't want to throw the good food away either.

Thus he returned to his mansion way more relaxed than before. He took a long look at the big house he called his home. It was very Mediterranean as most buildings in this area but with slight French touch as seen in the decorated banisters that lead to the low porch. He yawned and rubbed his throat to chase the dry feeling away. He needed a drink. Before he could make this urge his first priority he decided to visit Romano. The kid was probably in his room shivering and trembling, all paranoid, with Antonio and Feliciano desperately trying to calm him down. Heracles, as his superior, should at least give him some words of encouragement. He took another step and reached for his keys. Before his fingers touched the cold aluminum the terrible noise of an explosion filled his ears.

Oh shi-!


	5. Chapter 5

The dust from a collapsed wall filled room and lungs. His heart beating furiously, desperately, in his chest he held his breath and pressed his back against the closed door. Widened eyes stared, horror-stricken, at the broken window and the cracks running all over the wall. A crouched figure waited in the window, not bothered by the remaining glass that stuck out from the frame like daggers. The light that fell into the usually dark room coated the stranger in a golden gleam.

Antonio drew the gun from his belt and cocked it at once. As if a stranger pulled at a string that was tied to him he placed himself in front of the Italian brothers squatting on the ground. He couldn't give them more than a glance but he was sure they were unharmed. Through the haze it was hard to see, though. His eyes hadn't time to focus on his target when it already began to move. The silhouette of a woman appeared to his left and he whirled around.

"Antonio!" The Spaniard's head snapped up, eyes widened with alarm. He felt the cold metal of a gun against his temple and then a dull yet all-consuming pain. Numbness spread through his body, coated his sight in blackness. He fell to the floor, limply like a doll and didn't move anymore.

Elizaveta stepped away from the man and turned her torso around, eyes flitting from side to side in their sockets in search of the other two. When someone yanked the door open and hurried steps were heard in the hallway she cursed. It wasn't like her to leave witnesses. She left the guy, called Antonio, on the ground and swiftly chased after the duo. It was a rather short hunt, she didn't break a sweat before cornering them. The door they had wanted to escape through was locked.

Lucky.

Elizaveta straightened up and cocked her gun. Now she could relax and adjust her senses to the situation. In front of her stood two young men, about the same height and almost the same hair style. Sadiq had shown her footage of his cameras before she had left so she knew Lovino Vargas certainly was one of them. She narrowed her eyes in concentration. But who?

Frankly, it didn't even matter who of both her victim was for she would kill both anyway. She felt a sting of unease at the thought, though. She never killed for free. She didn't want it, either.

All in all, it had been a miscalculation, she had to admit. A week ago she had started to collect all information about Lovino Vargas in order to find his hide-out. Since the man had been very reckless when he had left Turkey it had been a piece of cake to track him down. She was still wondering why she was supposed to kill the Italian, and no one but him, though. She could have massacred the whole bunch in no time but Sadiq had forbidden her to do so. She guessed he wanted Heracles Karpusi for himself. She would have stuck to his conditions if she hadn't met unexpected circumstances. For starters: She had assumed Vargas to be alone in his room at this time of the day, but he hadn't been. She hadn't assumed them to be prepared, but they had been. She sighed a little, rolling her eyes in her mind. What a messed up day.

"I'm not in the mood for a bloodbath today." She began, it was a spleen of hers to talk a little to her victims at first. "So just tell me: Who of you is Lovino Vargas? The other will survive." She gave them a warm smile and really did not intend to break her promise. Yet the men remained silent, one staring at her with widened eyes, the other shaken by breathless sobs. Judging from their expressions both could have been the one sentenced to death. It was always very interesting to observe people's actions in such a situation. Most would point at their companion claiming they were the one she wanted. Others would step forth and take the bullet in order to protect the one she came to kill. Some simply remained silent, leaving her to choose. The two men kept their mouths shut, pressing their lips together until they turned white.

"It's the one on right." _Click_.

Elizaveta tensed when the cold iron mouth of a gun was pressed to the back of her head. She tried to catch a glimpse of the man standing behind her, she never had heard his voice before.

"But who knows if I'm lying?" He continued lowly, she could almost hear him smile. A thick accent coated his words as they rolled of his tongue like the purring of a giant black cat. She was still aiming at the two in front of her but her expression wasn't as much at ease as before. No one spoke a word, the pale duo in front of her pistol was busy staring at the intruder with disbelieving eyes and the Hungarian woman was preoccupied with ways to escape this intricate situation. Silently she cursed her own carelessness. She should have shot both and run for it. Maybe she could talk herself out of it. Still, Elizaveta suddenly got the feeling she was playing with the big boys now. The quivering two were small fry but the third one…

"Who are you?" She asked to buy some time. Her mind was racing ahead, searching for a solution, a way out.

"Since you are the one intruding my home and threatening my men… Shouldn't I be the one asking that question?" The dark voice continued. The assassin's insides turned into a tight knot when she felt his hot breath brushing against her neck. "Of course, I already know you, Miss Héderváry."

Karpusi! She couldn't believe how wrong all this went. One miscalculation followed the other. It was even worse since she was not to harm the Greek in any way. She would have to bend the rules a bit.

"I know you, too." She snarled and smashed her elbow into his head. The gun against her skull disappeared then and she heard stumbling steps followed by a low, groaned Greek curse. She glanced at the man for a split-second. He pressed one hand to his nose, maybe she had broken it. Elizaveta couldn't gloat, though. She swirled around when she saw something move out of the corner of her eye and without even thinking about pulled her trigger. The shot echoed through the halls of the big building. She didn't stay to watch the chaos she had caused. As she turned to leave she found herself caught in the stare of two widened golden eyes asking her why. Two trickles of blood ran down his along his nose while the wall behind him was covered red. It was absurdly pretty, the blood blooming like a halo that surrounded his head. Against all odds she had managed to give the man a headshot right between the eyes. So, one was dead, she didn't care who. Her job was done. The assassin disappeared before her victim hit the floor.

Heracles stared after her as she darted down the hallway and turned the corner. He didn't go after her, didn't even send his guardsmen. He looked down on the two brothers on the floor. One cradled the other to his chest, sobbing shamelessly as the tears streamed down his pale cheeks. Blood covered them both and tears weren't enough to wash it away.

Heracles closed his eyes, feigning a somber expression. He wasn't proud of it but his feelings didn't mirror the ones of the young Italian embracing his dead brother. He couldn't shed tears for the boy, neither could he find sorrow in his heart. So he stood by the increasing puddle of blood that crept over the tiled floor and watched over mourning man, holding the limp body dearly, gently, like a baby. With trembling, blood-stained fingers he brushed the hair away from the lifelessly staring eyes and began to rock the corpse in his arms. "Fratello, no, no… Fratellino, mio fratellino…" He whispered to him, pressing his lips to the bloody cheek of his brother. Heracles' eyes wandered over the scene for the tenth time while Romano kept chanting words in Italian. A throbbing pain in his face reminded the Greek of his own injury. He reached up to wipe the blood off his mouth and nose. It was a shame that the kid had to die, but Elizaveta would back off. Sadiq would think he had landed a critical hit. He almost sneered at the thought but he could compose his features right in time. He turned away when he heard staggering footsteps hurrying their direction. So Antonio was unharmed. Oh no, he wasn't. Blood covered half of his face, probably from a head wound. That would explain his slightly uncoordinated movements. "Romano, thank God!" He called out when he saw him sitting on the floor. "What ha-?" He stopped short when he saw the motionless body in his friend's tight embrace.

"¡Dios mío!"

Heracles finally raised his voice but it sounded like it came from the inside of a tomb. "Elizaveta escaped."

The Spaniard turned around to look at his boss and for the first time, it seemed, Antonio's eyes were burning with rage. It was sort of unsettling to see him like that, but the Greek was sure that it wasn't the grief about Feliciano's cruel demise that made him wear that expression. Most likely was it Romano's pain that made the Spanish man's eyes yell 'murder'. The answer to Heracles' statement didn't come from him, though.

"We'll go after her." Romano looked up, glaring, piercing both of them with his tearfilled eyes. "Right?"

Heracles knew that if he wanted to keep their loyalty he didn't have much of a choice for that matter. Yet, there were valid points to consider. It would be best to handle one thing at a time. So he knelt down next to Romano and slowly put his hand on the Italian's shoulder. "Don't lose yourself in thoughts of revenge." He quietly adviced him. "Take your time to mourn your brother."

Maybe they were the wrong words he had chosen because Romano's gaze focused on him now and a snarl broke from his clenched teeth. "Coming from you this means a lot! Don't act so superior, you damn jerk! It's your fucking fault he's dead! Because of you!" The man bellowed through a new wave of tears flooding his eyes and covering his cheeks. Antonio came to his side now, quick to wipe the saltwater away. "Romano, calm down. It's no use to-"

"Shut up! I won't calm down, you bastard! My brother is dead! Dead, Antonio! And now that fucking asshole of a Greek won't even let me revenge his death! I won't accept that, you son of a bitch!" The last words were obviously directed at Heracles who still crouched next to him in silence and took every word from Romano's lips without even blinking. Antonio, worried about his boss' lack of reaction tried once again to calm his partner down. "Please, think about it normally. If you calmed down we could talk-"Romano cut in again. "_No e poi no_! I will yell and scream and cry as much as I fucking want!"

"Antonio, come with me for a second." The Greek whispered. Romano had started to rock his brother back and forth and talk quietly to him again. It was plain to see that the Spaniard would have liked anything better than leaving the Italian now but one look into the cold emerald eyes of the Greek silenced every possible protest. He rose to his feet and carefully felt his head, probably for the first time since he got hit.

They walked a bit down the corridor, leaving Romano behind on the ground surrounded by blood.

Antonio spoke first. "I say we should go and let him kill the Hungarian." He hissed urgently.

"As if he would stand a chance against her." Heracles sighed.

"We could help him. I think it is more than important that Romano gets at least the chance to avenge his little brother's death."

The Greek gave a low groan of defeat. He knew Antonio was right and maybe it was for the best. His thoughts travelled ahead, weighing, considering, pondering, circling the different options, actions and reactions. Elizaveta would probably go back to Turkey to at least get her money. He knew assassins preferred to be paid with cash. So that meant they had to go to Turkey, as well? Heracles had already decided against letting Romano and Antonio go alone. It was too dangerous. Plus: Feliciano's death was probably the best reason to get closer to Sadiq. That reminded him of Romano's words. Maybe the young Italian's death really was his fault... Somehow this bugged him but there was nothing he could do about it. The Grecian man was always fast with putting up with things he couldn't change. From this point of view... Heracles couldn't deny that he wanted the exact same things. Romano wanted to see the murderer of his only family member dead and he wanted to see the Sadiq dead who had done things that went beyond murder.

"I understand." He breathed, struggling to keep his thoughts under control. His gaze met the one of the Spaniard. "Fine, you're right. He should get the chance. But now..." His eyes wandered back to the bloody pair on the floor as he rubbed the fresh blood from his lips. "We have to clean up the mess she left behind."

* * *

"This is an unworthy funeral, I know. We can't bring him to a cemetery, Romano." Antonio whispered to the silent Italian that stared at the freshly closed grave surrounded by olive trees. Heracles stood with them, yet he kept his distance to the hole he had dug and then filled with earth again. He shouldered the shovel and waited in the shadow the thin branches of a nearby tree threw on the ground. This was not his to behold, even though it was his work. Romano wouldn't have allowed him to come closer anyway. He could not even imagine what it felt like... to bury his own brother.

"I know that." The dark haired man replied quietly, his golden eyes glistening with tears. Three days ago Antonio had closed Feliciano Vargas' eyes forever. Since then Romano hadn't spoken a word until now. The Spaniard eyed his friend worriedly. One of his hands rested on the smaller man's shoulder and his thumb rubbed the stiff muscles beneath. "It's not fair." Romano growled and shut his eyes again, unable to look at the small tombstone in front of him in which the name of his brother was carved with shaky Latin letters. "It's not fair." He repeated. "I should be lying there... She came to get me. He shouldn't have died. It was supposed to be me."

"Romano..."

"No. You know I'm right, Antonio. She asked for me. She said my brother would survive. She broke her promise." He grinded his teeth and when he opened his eyes again there were flames in those amber orbs. "I will kill her." With those words he turned around to the Greek waiting farther behind.

"No matter what you want me to do, you bastard! I'll do it as long as I get to see Héderváry die." He growled, totally sincere. The Spaniard wanted to say something but Heracles had already nodded in agreement. "You will get your chance."

The trio slowly retreated from the grave, coated in grave silence. Heracles led the way back to the mansion. That was when he noticed what a mess the Hungarian had made. A whole wall had been blown up by some kind of bomb. He hadn't even paid attention to that before… How could he have missed that the past days?

"I think the timing is perfect." The Greek muttered when he opened the door.

"What do you mean?" Antonio had his hand still on Romano's shoulder as if he was steering him. That one didn't even look up. Heracles was a little worried about his mental condition but it was rather superficial.

"We can't stay here. Thank God for the ruckus that is going on in this city, one explosion more or less probably didn't receive much attention." He sighed as he hurried down the halls towards his rooms, followed by the other two. "We can't stay here, anyway. It's time to move now."

The Spaniard couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Where will we move, Senor Karpusi?"

"To Turkey."

* * *

It's short and terribly written, but all you get.


	6. Chapter 6

He stood in front of the deserted house and smiled. The door stood wide open like a black hungry mouth.

Disappointing? Sure. Surprising? Not at all.

He let his eyes wander around once again. One wall of the pretty villa was torn up and cracks ran across the white concrete in a complicated pattern. A few sheets of white paper were left in the entry hall, unattended by the former inhabitants. They must have been in a great hurry for most of the furniture was not removed, not even covered with the usual gray awning. He entered the house, silently he walked through the corridors, peeking into rooms and opening random doors. To him it didn't seem like anyone had ever lived here. There were no personal features anywhere to be found. Everything was plain and effectively furnished. Even the kitchen, which was a big bright room filled with metallic plates that made up the stove, fridge and dishwasher, didn't appear to ever have seen the slightest trace of food in its entire life. On the counter a small orchid was withering. Its stainless white blossoms were wrinkled with dryness and hung weakly from the stalk. One touch with the fingertip would probably be enough to break it. Down the hall there was something that could have passed for an office. The desk was empty and its drawers, as well, held no items of any sort. Next to the door leading to a bedroom, neatly clean and apparently not in use for months, stood a small couch that had seen better days. Its upholstery and cushions were worn out and some lay on the floor. A blanket was tangled around one leg of the black sofa.

So people actually had lived here. Even though he knew that without relying on an old piece of furniture it was nice to have some proof. The hurrying footsteps of a young man in the hall made him look up. He turned around to see a brunette enter the room with a nervous glance around. He liked the boy, he was dependable and loyal. "We searched everywhere" He reported with an earnest voice. "They are not here. They haven't been here for probably a week, maybe more."

"That was to be expected." He commented as he left the room together with his subordinate, who now gave a brief nod. They, he, had been watching this play from a safe distance for a few months now. When the Cat had left its hideout to hunt the Dog, which was a rather interesting turn, he had decided to interfere. So he had come here to take a closer look at the scenery.

They stepped outside the shadows of the house and were met by bright, glaring sunlight. He blinked several times before his eyes adjusted to the brightness. He looked around, smiling again. He couldn't express his joy over wearing a t-shirt outdoors. He turned to the smaller man that waited next to him silently, hands behind his back. "We'll go after them."

* * *

"When will you leave?" Sadiq asked quietly, his arm wrapped around the Hungarian's waist. The brunette woman next to him didn't respond for a moment. She needed a second to determine what to say. Her frown deepened as she glanced at him with narrowed eyes, the street light through the shadows of her eyelashes on her rosy cheeks. Her lips barely parted when she said: "Next week."

"As always." The Turk grinned to himself. It was funny with Elizaveta. She always complained when he called for her, yet she tended to extend her stay with him once she was in Izmir. Her behavior sure fed his ego. The two of them walked close to each other, he leant in a little to make it seem as though they were very familiar with each other. Sadiq enjoyed those little games, even though they were just to not attract attention. Right now there weren't many who would have paid any heed to the couple anyway, even though the sun had barely set. With a short-living smile he held his lips to her ear and whispered: "They have reached the Adnan Menderes Airport two days ago." Needless to say who 'they' were.

Elizaveta snickered as though he just had told her a good joke and turned around to hug him. The second her arms were wrapped around his torso she hissed lowly: "I kept an eye on them since they arrived in Istanbul."

The assassin had informed him about the course of events in Athens as soon as she had been back in Izmir. Of course he hadn't been too pleased but he couldn't find any major damage in her lapse either. It didn't matter who of Heracles' group was dead as long as someone was. Sadiq's eyes wandered upwards, staring into the steadily darkening sky. The crescent was clear to see against the black background. He was here. After all those years of silence Heracles had returned to him. The Grecian was coming with the intention to kill, no doubt about that. The Turk smiled in anticipation. Yes, and he would meet him with an awaiting gun. To think that the person who hated him the most was only an hour away from him, probably whetting his blades… It could drive one paranoid. Sadiq scratched that thought. You wouldn't become paranoid if you were the hunter. He pulled Elizaveta closer again, because she had started to inch away from him while he had been lost in his thoughts. "It's time to greet our guests, don't you think?" asked the Turk; his voice vibrated with excitement.

"Do you want me to find them?" The Hungarian asked under her breath. Sadiq acknowledged her skills as a bloodhound but this was, in fact, a matter of life or death. He couldn't take the responsibility for any kind of failure. He shook his head and tapped the headphones that were hidden by his casual green hood. "Gupta is taking care of that. He's busy locating them right now."

For a while they both were silent, strolling down the street together. Elizaveta had insisted on accompanying him to the bank since the Greek was in town, but now she wasn't so sure anymore. Surely, Sadiq was someone she would consider a friend of some sort, a bad friend, but a friend, yet he was a living target right now. She would never admit it but still the hot breath tickling her neck and the cold gun held to her head haunted her dreams. She always had been predator, but never prey. She knew it was foolish but due to that experience Heracles Karpusi had established himself in her mind as some sort of demon, able to tear her apart, destroying her vain belief that she was not to die since she delivered death herself. "Do you think they might be faster than us?" She asked under her breath, shooting a dark glance over her shoulder. Her companion raised an eyebrow questioningly, "Faster? Faster at what?"

"What if they've already found us?" Her head twitched to the left as if she was checking for any followers of theirs.

The Turk narrowed his eyes; so he had been right about the paranoia. Even though similar thoughts bothered him as well he couldn't resist the urge to tease her. "For a trained killer you're quite the coward."

In return she gave him a good punch in the ribs which made him gasp in surprise. People normally didn't treat him this disrespectfully. He used to teach them to fear his very presence right from the start; somehow he had missed that part with his Lizzy. Before he could complain about it a cracking sound in his ear caught his attention. His entire body froze so that even the brunette next to him noticed the change of atmosphere. Gupta's voice was distorted and cold as ice, "Heracles was sighted near the _Saat Kulesi_. Where are you?"

At that moment his mobile rang. The Hungarian said something but he couldn't understand it. Where Sadiq's insides had transformed into a tight knot they disappeared altogether now. His green eyes, hidden beneath his hood wandered to the left where the great clock tower stood, its hand hopped to the big ten. Elizaveta and Gupta both were silent now. Without his approval his hand reached into the pocket of his pants and wrapped itself around the small cell phone. It vibrated against his skin with more force than usual. Inhaling deeply he held it to his ears and picked up. He didn't hear anything but didn't feel compelled to speak either. Like this, motionlessly with a blank expression on his usually smirking face, he stood on the _Konak _Place. His eyes flitted from one corner of to the other in their sockets. Almost desperately he pressed the speaker against his ear. How on earth could it be that there were no people here at this time? The next second he wanted to slap himself for that thought. As if he needed protection from…

"…Sadiq."

* * *

He clenched his teeth, eyes fixed to the back of the brunette woman. Fingers wrapped around the now warm metal of the gun, he took a step forward, leaving the shadows and entering the moonlit open space which the clock tower was watching upon. He paid no heed to the seemingly frozen man next to her, holding a small mobile phone to his ear. He clearly remembered Heracles' words.

"_I promised you your chance. Here you go. We will hunt together tonight. Kill the Hungarian, torture her to your heart's content, Romano."_ He had muttered to him as they had parted ways with Antonio, knowing the Spaniard would probably try to restrain them. _"But don't get in my way. I swear I'll shoot you down if you interfere." _

The Italian was perfectly fine with those conditions. What did he care about the Greek's revenge? What did that bastard avenge anyway? Just his pride. Of course, men have killed for lesser reasons before.

Romano cocked his gun, feeling the shining body of the weapon with his fingertips hungrily as he took aim. He didn't plan on killing her just like that. That would be way too simple, wouldn't it?

He glared at the two people standing in that open place without any cover. His index finger was wrapped around the trigger, itching to pull. Yet, where was the best place to hunt the bullet into her flesh?

His thoughts got interrupted by a quick movement in the darkness to his right. The last time he had seen Heracles they had been on the other side of the place, now he was next to him? That Grecian might be as lazy as a dog but he was as nimble as a cat. From the corner of his eye he could see that he was staring down on a cell phone that rested in his hand. Romano's gaze darkened. Was now the time to play?

The next second the black phone hit the pavement and its casing came off with a loud clacking noise. The Italian looked up at the other southerner who had smashed it to the ground. Heracles' eyes were blazing with unleashed rage, his face twisted with pain. Thirty meters away from them Sadiq's line went dead. The Turk's head snapped up at the noise. His phone disappeared in the depths of his pocket again and from under his pullover he drew a pistol that had been strapped to his belly. He barely noticed Elizaveta straightening up, now with two machineguns in her hands, he didn't even take a moment to wonder where the hell she had hidden those before. His eyes pierced the shadows of the surrounding buildings, searching for the man he hadn't seen in person for years. Sadiq waited for the excitement to kick in, this thrill right before he sliced a throat open. A minute passed by. Then another…

"You idiot! Now they are prepared!" Romano raged in a whispering voice, hand fisted into the Greek's shirt. Heracles paid no heed to the Italian because now Sadiq Adnan turned around, finally he turned around, and looked at him. "I want him to see me. I want him to know what's going to happen to him." His voice surprised even him. It sounded hollow and dark. It was not his.

Heracles pushed the smaller man aside as if he was nothing more than child. His feet moved on their own it seemed, brought him closer to the other man. Heracles basked in his hatred, let it build up in his heart and fill his mind, he embraced the burning flame that it was. Before tonight his wrath and pain, his hurt pride had been smoldering underneath the surface. Those feelings were simply too strong to handle all at once. The hatred he held often made him wake from his sleep with a scream on his lips. It had haunted him throughout the years, caged him in his thoughts of revenge and it had grown. As everything you fed it had grown stronger, greater.

Therefore he had hidden from it.

The time of hiding was over.

He felt his pace gain speed. Whether it was the cold breeze that came from the sea or the sheer force of the fire that burnt its way through his mind and soul, he couldn't tell, but now salty tears ran down his cheeks. He clenched his teeth and bared them at the same time, his mouth twisted into a deadly parody of a smile. His eyes were widened, blazing green irises surrounded by white. By now he had lowered his gun. Screw the weapons. He would kill Sadiq with his bare hands and he would do it ever so slowly. He had already crossed half of the place before the life came back to his prey. He didn't run away, of course he didn't run away. Instead the Turk lifted his gun again, adjusting it to the distance that was no distance anymore. If a single gun was enough to stop him Heracles wouldn't have made it this far. Mercilessly he pushed onward while wrathful overjoyed tears fell to the ground. He took a second to taste them. He tasted his own tears without resentment. The salt bit his tongue while the sweetness in them caressed it tenderly. It was a good mixture. He was no longer facing a locked door that bore a flood of hatred, hidden in his heart. Now the door was standing wide open and the floods were carrying him forward. He stared at that face, that face which hadn't changed during the years and he couldn't see anything else. Noise came from behind him, the thunder of firing guns. No bullet hit him so he didn't care. Romano probably had begun his own hunt. Screams got loud around him, still faint in the surrounding streets. Why didn't Sadiq move? Wasn't he happy to see him?

The Turk was still aiming at him and his arms trembled slightly. Again and again his finger twitched as if he tried to pull the trigger but an invisible force prevented him from doing so. Now he was close enough to touch. When he saw he had run out of tears Heracles' face relaxed, it almost turned somber. Then his fist collided with Sadiq's jaw. Pain shot up his arm as he sent the Turk to the ground. This one stumbled backwards but could catch himself with one hand, he dropped the gun though. Heracles stared at him, searching for words. But what words would be appropriate for such a situation?

"Nice to see you, too." Sadiq hissed as he came to his feet again. His voice broke halfway. He knew he had a disadvantage now.

"Do you know how long I've waited for this?" The Greek spoke softly, his voice came out smooth and quiet. He didn't give Sadiq a chance to reply for the next second he smashed his foot into the Turk's side. Heracles kicked the gun out of his reach and held his own to Sadiq's head. "Way too long."

Sadiq narrowed his eyes and sneered. "You want to end it already? But we had no time to play yet," With one fluent movement he kicked Heracles' feet away from under him and disarmed him swiftly. A shot loosened and the bullet grazed the Greek's cheek. He let out a short hiss as he felt his skin rip open. He saw the black sole of the boot right before it kicked him hard in the face. Heracles landed on his back and hit his head on the pavement with enough force to actually make his vision cloud. He blinked to clear his sight and suddenly found himself face to face with the Turk. Sadiq was pinning him down, a full-blown grin on his disgusting face. His grin transformed into a scornful sneer as he stared down at Heracles. "You haven't changed, have you?" He scoffed. "Your face is just as terrified as back then. Fancy weapons and underlings alone don't make you stronger, y'know?"

"What do you know about strength?" He barked and rammed his knee into Sadiq's stomach. As the man coughed and gasped for air Heracles pushed him off, grabbing the jack knife that had been waiting faithfully in the deep pocket of his jeans. He brought the blade to his opponent's throat, determined to slice, pierce, slit, cut and slash. Yet his dagger ran into thin air when he stabbed. Cursing violently Heracles sprang to his feet. "Where are you, Adnan?" He growled under his breath, eyes flitting around in their sockets. He refused to let that bastard escape now. He wiped some blood off his face, pain pulsed in every bone of his and tomorrow his skin would be covered in bruises. His attention was drawn away from his feverish search by the loud sirens that came closer with alarming speed. His head snapped around to see the blue and red lights of police cars getting stronger in the darkness. "No, no, no! Not now!" He cried out in rage like any lion would.

The yell echoed through the city and before it died away the_ Konak_ place was lying empty and dark in the night, with only a few blood stains to tell the tale.

* * *

"They have caused such a ruckus. To think they are older than me…" He said thoughtfully watching the sea rolling against the shore. "It makes me want to play with them."

He turned around, eyes narrowed slightly as he gave a warm smile to the two men standing behind him. His companions remained silent and nodded. Their hands were behind their backs and their faces displayed no emotions. He had stopped playing with the two of them some time ago.

"Now, my friends, we should go and find them, don't you agree?"

Two agreeing nods.

"I'm so excited. I always wanted to meet them in person. They are really famous in the underworld, you know?"

Two agreeing nods.

"I am eager to see who of them will cave in first. Aren't you?"

The brunette spoke quietly, monotonously, "Yes, we are."

"Then let's not waste any more time." He cheered in a joyous sing-sang voice and walked towards the black Mercedes that was waiting for them behind the next corner. The two men followed him, exchanging one lasting gaze.

The people were talking already.


	7. Chapter 7

Blood dripped from the sky into his parted mouth. Dark storm clouds rolled across the firmament heavy with rain they would soon release on the dirty, numb world beneath them. Somewhere among the ruins, cradled in dust, he laid with his eyes opened wide, his lips taking in every drop of red that met them. Days and centuries seemed to rush his empty gaze by as he remained motionless on the ground. He drank the blood that continuously stroked his tongue and filled his mouth; it ran down his parched throat like velvet would flow. Warm darkness embraced him, swallowed his aching body. Like that he drifted through the cozy blackness; quickly he was overcome by the indifference it held. Just when he was finally ready to slip deeper into the abyss he was wavering above a crude voice ripped him away from it.

"Romano!"

It echoed through his dark, numb world, tore the clouds apart for glaring light to intrude and to burn his eyes. He tried to shrink away from the noise that destroyed the calming darkness around him but he couldn't budge. What an annoying voice that was. Still it felt somewhat familiar and touched a soft spot within him. He figured he didn't really mind it, despite the clamor it caused. Again it rang through the clouds and reached his ears, though he had believed them tightly closed and deaf. But since this voice was all he could hear, maybe it only existed inside his head? That was his current location, after all. Somewhere right behind the walls of his mind pain was building up, growing and multiplying. He would be a fool to face it if he was able to hide in his thoughts for a little longer, with their storm clouds, dusty ground and annoying voice.

"Romano, you have to wake up!"

He frowned, or at least he felt as though he should do it. He couldn't reach his body from where he was laying. He didn't want to wake up.

"Romano!" The voice now echoed through his head as if it was shouting right into his ear. Maybe it was. The immense volume nearly made him jump out of his safe mind and into the real world waiting for him with all the pain and chaos. Hot hands suddenly wrapped around his upper arms, burning his cold numb skin as they shook him. The walls of his thoughts tumbled without any remarkable resistance and then his eyes really opened. The sky wasn't covered with gray thick layers of gaseous water as it had been in his imagination. In fact it was of a clear dark blue, illuminated by the city's lights and the thousands of stars spangling the firmament. That was the first thing he noticed. Then the rest of his thoughts caught up with him, as well as his most recent memories.

"Héderváry!" He yelled out and shot up into a sitting position. As he did so fire exploded in the back of his head and wandered down his spine. That was what he had been hiding from. The shout quickly morphed to a helpless whine and he bent forward, clutching the sides of his head, trying to fight the enormous headache from the outside. Unfortunately, that only worsened the pain. The same hands as before now pushed against his chest, accompanied by a soft voice, surprisingly it was the one he had heard before, that whispered to him: "Don't move. You probably have a concussion…" The Spanish accent dancing among the words finally got through to the Italian and he was able to put a face to the voice. Antonio had called him back. The first thing he felt was relief. He wasn't dead!

The next second he was wild with rage. _She_ wasn't dead!

He blindly groped for his gun, assuming it at least somewhere near him. The Spaniard only interfered when he tried to stand up.

"No, no, no, no, no" He murmured, holding him in place gently. "Listen to me. You are badly injured."

Judging from the aching in his skull and back he was right. Now he remembered. Karpusi had stormed up to Adnan without any defense- that idiot –and when Hedérváry had been distracted he had stroke. The next memories were nothing but blurred images of the city and dark alleys, dashing through small lanes, turning corners, sliding over the smooth pavement. Again and again shots were fired; the mere remembering of the noise was enough to send his temples into throbbing again. He had caught up with her, he had wondered how she was able to see with the dark mane of her hair waving around her head like that. Then he had run out of ammo and the last thing he knew was that a heavy boot had come right onto his face. It sickened him that he was alive due to her mercy.

"How" Romano began through clenched teeth, "were you able to tell I needed help?"

That elicited a halfhearted chuckle from the other man and the Italian immediately glared daggers at him. Antonio scooted closer, his proximity began to calm Romano down and that was something this one didn't want. The Spanish man looked him in the eye, totally sincere, "Romano, my dear Lovino, I knew you were in trouble before you did."

That wasn't much of an explanation. "Stop with the cryptic crap, you jerk." He barked in return but leaned against him at the same time. He was so tired. Not a second later Antonio had his arms wrapped around the smaller man and pressed his lips to the other's blushing cheek. "I followed the two of you here. I couldn't bear the thought of you getting hurt because of your lack of common sense."

"Ah…"

"Héderváry was about to kill you" The Spaniard's voice dropped a whole octave, it sounded like the growl of a hunting jungle cat, heavily implying that he was the one who had prevented her from actually doing so. So she hadn't spared his life. The Italian was somehow relieved to hear that. He didn't owe that bitch anything. Of course not!

"Let me stand up." He commanded weakly, knowing that he wouldn't be able to do it on his own without another stabbing headache attack. Now he also felt nauseous. Just perfect.

Antonio held his wrists in a tight grip and pulled him to his feet, standing so close that should Romano lose his balance he would land in his arms. After making sure he was standing safely on his feet the Spanish man lead him out of the alley he had been laying in and onto the main street. Only few cars passed them by as they walked back to their temporary hideout. Romano limped a little, it seemed his ankle was sprained, and held his head the whole time, partly trying to cover the hole in his skull but also to emphasize that he was suffering a great deal right now. They didn't exchange any more words until the door of their private rooms was closed behind them.

"Where's Karpusi?" Romano growled when Antonio started to clean the cuts on his face and arms. The rubbing alcohol stung but he had experienced worse. His question sent a flicker of worry across the Spaniard's smooth face.

"I don't know." He admitted, shamefully casting his eyes down as if it was his fault that bastard had taken off to someplace without telling a single soul about it. "He doesn't answer his phone and no one of my contacts has seen him either. I fear something might have happened to him."

"You're such a worrywart. It's Heracles we're talking 'bout. If there is _anybody_ who has nine lives it's that Greek." The Italian snorted to take the praise from his words.

"He wasn't thinking clearly last night." Antonio simply replied while he examined his partner's skull. "You're bleeding. I'll get the bandages." He rushed out of the room leaving Romano to his thoughts. Maybe the Grecian was dead. That was, to be honest, the most logical answer to his disappearance.

Adnan had killed him. It was as easy as that. Heracles had been acting pretty reckless anyway. That idiot, what had he been expecting to happen? Adnan fall to his knees begging for mercy the second he laid eyes on his former 'ward'? Ridiculous.

He briefly wondered what the Turk had put him through to elicit such a thoughtless behavior of the usually so calm and calculating man. Right before Karpusi had charged at the other man he had glanced over his shoulder back at Romano and he would be damned if there hadn't been utter wildness in those green orbs. The Italian still felt nervous just thinking about it. The Greek was not a merciful man, neither was he very forgiving. So it was Adnan's fault Karpusi had this attitude?

Suddenly a memory struck him, one of the first he had of the Greek. Antonio had brought him to Heracles, Romano remembered well how scared he had been of that dark man with the cold piercing stare, so he could decide whether he was fit for the kind of jobs they expected him to do. They had met in a dusty little restaurant, with not so much as three tables in the narrow dim-lit room. The windows had been tightly shut and barricaded with wooden boards. Heracles had advised them to not order anything to drink. While the older men had talked about things the Italian couldn't make anything of back then he had let his eyes wander. Next to the empty bar had been the bathroom and its door had been unlocked revealing the sight of what had been inside. Two women had been hanging from the ceiling with their throats slit open, blood dripping to floor and forming a giant dark red puddle on the tiles. Romano hadn't been able to look away for a second. The lifeless eyes of the two blondes had burnt themselves into his mind. He wasn't a gene specialist but judging from their hair color and height they had been from East Europe; Ukraine maybe, Belarus or Russia even. He must have been very pale because the Greek had followed his gaze and then casually said: "Don't worry. They won't be staying for dinner." Antonio had chuckled at that remark.

The Spaniard came back that moment, a bundle of bandages in his hands and smiled reassuringly as he started to nurse his beloved one's head wound.

* * *

"He's not back yet?" Elizaveta had to make sure she hadn't misunderstood. The taciturn man on the other side of the desk just shook his head. The Hungarian straightened up. Hopefully Sadiq hadn't lost to Karpusi. That Greek was the devil himself. Since last night she was utterly sure of that. The way he had walked and glared and smiled was all the proof she needed. The memory was enough to send shivers down her spine. Then she had been a little distracted by the attack of the Italian she had spared last time. Now she regretted not having killed him when she had had the chance. She would have corrected that mistake if it hadn't been for that Spaniard. Never before had she seen an axe appear out of thin air, and it hadn't been a small one. How was that even possible?

Elizaveta supposed that all of that man's victims had the same thought just before they met their end. So she was lucky that he just had come to protect the Italian and not to kill her in the first place. She tended to intimidate people since she was known for not being the most patient person but in fact she was very careful, if not hesitant. It happened from time to time, though, that her temper got in the way of her work. She was good at what she was doing, no doubt. Still there weren't many who would hire her because of her young age. She was just a beginner but even the biggest idiot could see her potential. She just needed more experience. Heracles and his Spanish henchman seemed to be still a size too big for her but that would change soon.

"Have you tried locating his mobile?" She interrupted her own thoughts. There were bigger problems at hand. Sadiq hadn't shown up since they had got separated last night. But where should he be?

"I found his mobile phone." Gupta admitted in an emotionless tone.

"But?" She questioned, already seeing that there must have been complications if the phone's whereabouts were known but not its owner's.

"His phone is currently in the hands of an elderly Turkish man who has quite a lisp, if you ask me, although I'm not familiar with certain dialects of the local tongue." While this description was far more explicit than expected she couldn't help but frown.

"How the hell do you know?" Elizaveta knew the Egyptian for only a few months now but it was obvious that he needed to give his information little by little and in bite-sized chunks.

"That person picked up when I called his number." He stated matter-of-factly, shrugging a slender shoulder.

"So you have no idea where Sadiq could be." She clarified the situation. Gupta, whose eyes had travelled back to the computer screen in front of him, looked up once again and gave a serious nod. A loud pang made both jump and the man rose from his chair. The metal swing doors were suddenly wide open and slammed against the wall with so much force that the frames shook even seconds later.

"Look who's back." Gupta commented dryly. The Hungarian next to him felt as though a weight was lifted off of her shoulders. She sank back into her chair which she hadn't used for a nervous half-hour as an infuriated Turk in filthy clothes stormed up to them. His shirt was torn up and covered in dirt and blood. His face didn't look better. He was limping a little and pressed one hand to his side. Elizaveta frowned as she stared at his hateful grimace. She was glad he was alive, of course. Still she hadn't expected his encounter with Karpusi to cause so much damage.

"How are you?" She asked despite the obvious answer. She assumed, it was more appropriate than pulling him into a relieved hug. The Turk hissed at her, he really did, and shoved her aside with little more than a cold glance. Before anyone could demand an explanation Sadiq slammed his fist on the desk in front of him with enough force to break bones and started yelling at the top of his lungs. It was a rather impressive volume he reached considering the condition he was in.

"That sick fuck!" was all they could understand, though. The rest of the flood of words leaving his mouth was nothing but slurred Turkish insults thick with the dialect of his old hometown, some of which sounded so horrid and hateful that Elizaveta really didn't want to know their meaning. Gupta now approached the raging man in a professional manner, clearly having experience in handling Sadiq in such a stage. He kept on at his boss with a clear level voice that never drowned out the explosion of noise coming steadily from the other. There was no chance of getting any kind of information out of the Turk now so the woman chose to retreat. For days her cell phone weighed heavy in her pocket. Every moment she left it unattended it gained a few pounds. Roderich was always worried about her and she hadn't called him for a whole week now. The guilt sat persistently on her shoulders. She should stop spending so much time thinking about Sadiq and better work on keeping her very young marriage intact. She should stop getting involved in things that were none of her business. She should do a lot of things. Her feet carried her down the narrow hallway searching for a quiet spot. Even now the Turk's voice roared down the corridors. Gupta could deal with Sadiq, he didn't need her help. She really wondered what had sent her friend into such a tantrum, though; and what had caused those injuries. The answer was probably gloating somewhere in the guts of this city, planning the final blow against Sadiq. That Greek devil!

Angrily she pushed those thoughts away. It was really none of her business. Her hand found its way to the small mobile phone in her pocket and pressed the key with the white one printed on it. Then she held the small appliance to her ear.

"Hallo?"

"Roderich, it's me."

* * *

Anger shook his frame and even when Gupta succeeded in pushing him into a sitting position he didn't stop trembling. At least he had screamed his throat sore enough to keep quiet by now, his ears hurt.

"Now" The Egyptian man said as he closed the door to Sadiq's private quarters. The Turk was waiting on the bed, resting his chin in the grazed palm of his hand and grinded his teeth violently. Both, pain and fury were responsible for his tense state. "Tell me what happened." Gupta demanded emotionlessly. It was impossible to tell whether he was worried, curious or merely polite enough to fake interest in his surroundings. The dark man inhaled but before he could utter one syllable his assistant held up one slender finger to stop him. "Tell me without any curses, swear words or screaming. I wouldn't want the air to get polluted."

Too exhausted to contradict or respectively throw another fit Sadiq just waved the comment aside with a tired motion of his hand.

"I was about to break his neck but then the damn police arrived. So I decided to spare his decrepit little life." He paused to massage his bruised shoulder. "I didn't know he'd use such petty tricks. Fucking cunt…"

"Sadiq." Gupta interrupted him.

"Whatever, sorry 'n stuff."

"What kind of tricks are you talking about?" The smaller man inquired monotonously as he took the few steps to the near bathroom to get the first aid kit. The Turk's guttural voice rang loudly through the walls, "I'm talking about a trap, of course. Effin' bastard had a guy tracking me down."

Figuring he lost the battle against his superior's foul mouth Gupta returned with bandages in one hand and the red plastic case in the other. "How did you escape?" He kept on asking while he swiftly stripped the Turk off his shirt (with little more than a halfhearted snort from this one) to reveal a field of blooming bruises decorating his torso. As he felt the contusions Sadiq winced more than once. So he had been acting the whole time. His body wasn't just quivering with rage, it was sheer exhaustion and pain that pushed him towards his limit.

"I was lucky, that's how. I spent the day at my place and when I wanted to go here that fucker attacked me! Out of the fuckin' blue!" He added a low hiss when Gupta accidentally brushed against a black bruise on his ribs.

"Seems broken." He merely commented before continuing his interrogation. "What happened then?"

"Shit happened. 'Course I put up a good fight but I lost my pistol. He nearly killed me but then I made it to the main street and he was gone." Sadiq reported grudgingly, clearly upset about this display of weakness on his side. The Egyptian raised his amber eyes from the cut on the Turk's forearm he was tending to at the moment and clicked his tongue. He said: "If that man tried to kill you he wasn't sent by Heracles." At his boss' irritated look he explained, "Heracles wants to see you dead, but he wants to do it himself. He would never send someone to kill you."

That silenced the taller man for a few minutes which Gupta used to nurse the remaining wounds that practically covered his entire body. It seemed as though his superior had got smashed into a wall or run over by a car or something of that sort. While he wrapped Sadiq's torso in white bandages that stood bright against his bruised dark skin he asked: "What did he look like?"

That apparently pulled him out of his thoughts and the grim expression that started to form on his face disappeared to be replaced with one of indifference. "He went all Kung Fu on me. I guess he's Chinese."

"Ah."

"Why is that important, eh?"

"I thought maybe I know him." Gupta replied quietly, trying to reduce his part of the conversation. He disliked talking, it revealed way too much of a person. That was why Gupta had no problem seeing through Sadiq as if he was made of glass. The Turk was like a little child; loud, wild and reckless. Half of his entire life could be read in just the way he greeted people in the morning. Gupta knew about his childhood, how he slipped into the criminal world and what Heracles had done to him. Sadiq had grown up in Istanbul as the son of a successful merchant but his relationship with his father had been the worst. He had felt rebellious and misunderstood and had run away from his parents' house when he had been around 14. To earn money he had started as a teenage drug dealer and thus had got involved in criminal matters. It was indeed an achievement that he had managed to work his way to the top all by himself. Things had gone flawlessly for the Turk; that was until he'd met the young homeless Greek during a trip to Thessaloniki. He clearly had been, and probably still was, attracted to the quiet boy he had brought back from Greece. He had gone out of his way to please Heracles. The teenager had been very gentle and soft-spoken, never too demanding but never quite satisfied either. No matter what the Turk had done to impress him it just hadn't been enough, always almost. Heracles had been a single mystery, he hadn't said where he was from or what had happened to him, never had he spoken of anything from his past. It was obvious that Sadiq couldn't have helped it but be intrigued. He was a very competitive nature and solving his riddle, winning the Greek's affection had been an irresistible challenge. So he had introduced his ward to the world he lived in. It had been, indeed, a manipulating game he had played; showing the darkest sides, the atrocities and sins of men to innocent eyes and then stepping forth as a protector. It had worked well, to say the least. He had been close to win Heracles. Gupta had seen the thoughtful expression on the younger male's face when watching Sadiq. He had seen the good-natured roll of his eyes when the Turk had made a dumb remark. Heracles had followed him everywhere and the Turk had taken him everywhere. It had been only a matter of time until Sadiq would have made him his first assistant. And it had only been a matter of time until Heracles would have given in to the Turk. The Greek had been confused by the signals his warden had kept sending at him but if he had given it a little more time... Well, maybe nothing good would have come from it anyway. Still, Sadiq was such an impatient man. One mistake, and it had been a huge one in the African's eyes, had destroyed everything he had worked for. So it all had gone to waste and the Turk had grown bitter over the years, maybe it had been just a matter of days. Surely he was angry at himself, disappointed, maybe, but he was also hurt. Still.

Gupta observed quietly, had done that for years, and he knew that the proud, cheery Turk was hurting. It was written clearly all over his face when someone mentioned Heracles Karpusi. Not once those things had been topic of any of their discussions and that hadn't been necessary in the slightest.

"You aren't listening to me, are ya?"

"No." The Egyptian answered truthfully, startled when he got shaken from his thoughts and pulled back into the present. Sadiq groaned and repeated: "I said he didn't belong to any of our partners or enemies. Plus: I don't fucking give a damn; it was probably some new assassin who tried his luck. Those guys are shooting right out of the ground lately."

"So you really have no idea who could have attacked you?"

"Geez, I told you so, didn't I? Why so vocal today, eh? Don't tell me you were worried." Sadiq barked a hoarse condescending laugh and went straight to groaning painfully while he pressed his hand against his ribs. Gupta placed a plastered a barely noticeable smile on his lips and replied: "I was worried."

That elicited a rather amusing disbelieving look from the injured Turk. Paying no heed to that the Arab continued: "Why didn't you go straight to the headquarters after your encounter with Heracles?"

"I was too tired to deal with anymore crap." He had been too upset by seeing Heracles again to be around people.

"I see. Why didn't you call for help when this stranger attacked you?"

"As if I needed help!" He had thrown his phone away, scared that Heracles might call him again.

Sadiq was way too easy to read. Rising to his feet in one fluent motion Gupta took the kit and turned for the door. "Take a rest." He advised his superior quietly and reached for the door knob. The other man gave a low grunt of consent before the Egyptian left the room. When he stood in the hallway he reached into his pocket and drew a small cell phone from it. It was time for a report and it was time for him to take charge of this mess.

* * *

He knew he wasn't allowed to roam about at night. He had already forgotten why he was up at such an hour in the first place. His naked feet padded over the cold tiles of the wide corridor and the sounds echoed from the high gray walls. His surroundings were weirdly vague to his eyes, they seemed to shift shapes and blur the second he wasn't focusing on them. He found nothing too unordinary in that, though, and walked on. He was thirsty, he discovered. Now that he had a reason and a goal his pace quickened. He didn't like the mansion at night. Everything was still so unknown and strange. His thoughts got interrupted by a slim ray of line falling onto the dark floor from a black door he had never noticed before. Drawn in by an invisible force he opened the door a little, peeking inside. The room was brightly illuminated by a tasteful chandelier and a small fireplace where little flames crackled happily as they devoured the dead dry wood. One wall seemed to consist of nothing but bookshelves. He knew that room. It belonged to his personal guardian angel. He knew that such thoughts were sappy and girlish but he couldn't help but look up to the man who had saved his life. Now the same stepped into sight; followed by a lifeless body that simply fell to the floor like a bag of potatoes. A red fluid crept across the expensive wooden floor towards where he was standing. He felt the need to run. He would have given in to that sudden urge if it hadn't been for the tall man next to the motionless lump of flesh. His large leather-gloved hand reached up to his face and removed the white mask that obscured his features. Sadiq's eyes shifted to the door. He had seen him.

"Heracles, good evening." He greeted him politely, but with a certain smug edge in his voice, as if he had expected him to see this. Taking this as an invitation to enter the room the Greek slowly walked up to him. He put on an emotionless expression and prayed to God that he would be able to keep it up. "Is he… dead?" Heracles asked stupidly. Mesmerized, he stared into the empty eyes of the stranger. His hair had been white or blond once but the blood that now stuck to his strands soiled their color. The Turk next to him nodded and then added in a soft, almost worried tone: "I had to do it. You were in danger." The fact that Sadiq tried to justify his doing somehow calmed the teenager but it did not ease the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. "You murdered him." He whispered. The fact seemed so much realer now that he had spoken those words.

"Yes. I wish there had been another way." The Turk answered solemnly and held out a hand to his younger companion. He moved slowly and deliberately as if Heracles was a stray cat that would run for it if he wasn't careful. He wouldn't run. The Greek silently obeyed the unspoken command or rather plea to come closer. His eyes never left the body on the ground. Then he was within the taller male's reach and that one wrapped his hands around his shoulders to turn him away from the corpse protectively. "Don't look at it."

It.

Sadiq had called a human being 'it'. For a reason Heracles didn't wish to know tears welled up in his eyes and he desperately tried to blink them away. The Turk saw them anyway. A shocked expression flickered across his face but it was too perfect, too concerned and startled. Something told Heracles that it was staged. Everything about the Turk suddenly seemed false and dangerous, but he wouldn't run from him. Sadiq would never hurt him. That was what the Greek repeatedly told himself.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, kid. I really didn't want you to see that side of me."

"Who is –was that?" He asked in a monotonous voice that even surprised him. Sadiq had murdered a person and seemingly found no problem with that at all.

"You of all people should know that there are evil men out there, shouldn't you? Our little Icelandic visitor was one of those." The Turk replied and started to steer the boy away from the dead man on the floor. He knew he would regret it later but for now Heracles was satisfied with that explanation. Evil-doers had to be punished. That made sense. Didn't Sadiq say that he had been in danger? So he had saved him once again. He really was his guardian angel. As if he had read his thoughts the Turk now whispered to him, quietly, softly as if the corpse could still be spying on them: "You know I will always protect you, right? I'll let nothing and no one hurt you, Heracles. You can trust me. Even if there is no one else in this world you can trust, I'll always be there."

"Yes, I know."

"Wake up."

"What?"

A cold wave of water hit his face and burnt his eyes. Instinctively he gasped for air and tried to jerk away from the icy torture dripping from his face but instantly had to learn that his hands were tied tightly to a pipe above his head. He was sitting on the floor of some decrepit basement from what he could see. A slender, short man now crouched down in front of him. His black long hair was forced into a ponytail and despite his obvious Chinese origin his skin was very fair. His expression or rather the lack of it reminded him of someone but he couldn't put a finger on it; not that it mattered now.

"Where am I? Who are you? Who do you work for?" He barked and struggled against the thick ropes that held him in place and cut deep into his wrists. The answer was short and enraging: "Classified."

"I'll show you classified, you fucker! Untie me!"

"I will have to decline." He answered, unaffected. "You have been sleeping for quite some time. That was helpful. You can rest a little now, too. Make yourself at home."

Heracles Karpusi stared at the man with disbelieving eyes and he would have laughed at that last comment if the other hadn't sounded so awfully serious. The Asian straightened up fluently and turned to leave. The only exit was a grayish green painted metallic door that did not appear to lead anyplace better than this. When he realized he was really going to be left alone in this cold prison he called out to his capturer, "Wait!" When there was no reaction he grudgingly added: "Please."

That made the other male glance back over his shoulder. So you had to be polite around here?

"Give me at least a goddamn reason." The Greek snarled while his hands tried constantly to escape their ties. He didn't understand. What had happened anyway? He remembered entering a bar after he had ended his unsuccessful search for Adnan. He had ordered a few drinks, nothing unusual. He had flirted with some girls, nothing unusual. He had gotten involved in a fight with some rowdies, nothing too unusual. That was the last memory he had of last night but it was enough to remind him of his demolished face that now pulsed hotly with pain. His lips were cut, his nose hurt like hell and the way his jaw cracked when he imitated chewing motions didn't sound promising either.

"You are here because our boss is interested in you." The Chinaman said, as robotic as any answering machine. That was quite the vague statement but Heracles decided to let it go. If he pushed him too far he might leave without answering any more questions. Wait… Had he said 'our'? The Greek's head shot up, gazing around. Next to the door another man stood motionlessly like a statue. He was definitively taller than the first but wore the exact same expression; a perfect poker face. Heracles wondered if those two were even human, maybe that was some new kind of biological technology; scary thought.

"How long have I been out? Tell me that", he demanded, addressing both of them. His voice echoed hollowly from the naked concrete walls.

"Three days." Was the instead reply and his insides turned cold. He had assumed to be still in Izmir or at least near the city, but this meant he could be practically anywhere in this world. His next question was obvious. "Where am I?" He nearly yelled and secretly cursed the panicking tone in his voice. He had to keep his cool now or he was lost.

The two men exchanged a long gaze, seemingly communicating in complex sentences. Now the silent one by the door raised his voice. He sounded even younger than his Asian companion. "We are in Greece." While this wasn't very specific either it could have been a lot worse. At least he was in his own country.

"Okay, and who is that boss of yours?" He figured as long as they were willing to talk Heracles should do his best to get as much information out of them as possible for it didn't seem likely that they would kill him. His question sent the others into a heavy silence that pressed on his ears.

"He will introduce himself once we brought in your new roommate." The brunette said and gestured his Chinese friend to come. Without any further interruption they left the room and the door slammed shut with a final clicking of a clasp.

What had happened to his life? One second he was trying to rip that filthy Turk's guts out and the next he was a prisoner of some sick shadowy individual. He thanked God for his easy-going nature that made him believe that he would find a way out of that mess. It was better to stay focused on the present anyway. He couldn't care less about who was responsible for this or what reasons they had. He didn't mind being on his own, that was nothing new. Right now he just hoped they would return soon because he really needed to take a piss. He rubbed his legs against each other, determined to fight his bladder. This could only end well…

Two hours later the taller one, the brunette, returned with a bucket that apparently was meant to replace his bathroom for the next time. At least they hadn't forgotten about him because Heracles now really needed that bucket. Awkwardly he didn't untie his hands for obvious reasons so he kind of had to do the work for him. Both of them flushed bright red and didn't say a word during the procedure. Heracles fought the sick feeling in his stomach and the other one did the same. While he relieved himself the younger male politely turned away.

"So, what's your name?" The Greek asked as casually as possible when the man picked up the bucket and held it away from himself in a disgusted manner. He seemed a lot more at ease without his Chinese friend around. However, he just turned to frown at Heracles at the question.

"Come on" That one joked bitterly, "You were in my pants; I should at least know that much about you."

"Toris."

"Okay, Toris… Am I going to spend the rest… of my life in here? Because I have to say the service is pretty poor." Heracles asked, strengthening the accent in his voice. He had found out that exotic accents worked beautifully on men and women alike. They seemed to have a hypnotic effect on them which was kind of handy in some situations. He couldn't be as convincing as usually with his hands tight above his head and his pants undone, sitting on the dirty floor but he tried his best.

"No." Toris replied, looking at him nervously. "You will move to a more fitting residence soon enough."

The southerner nodded and leaned back, watching the brunette boy leave again.

No matter how you looked at it…

The situation was more than unsatisfying.


	8. Chapter 8

"The main problem was getting hold of some chloroform and morphine. That's why it took a few days."

"The black market isn't as reliable as it was a few years ago, is it?"

"Certainly not."

The voices echoed through his head and left a bitter taste in his mind. He hadn't known his brain had grown taste buds but it obviously had. He shuddered, still dizzy and dazed. He needed a few seconds to realize that his eyes were closed and that he could barely move (not that he actually planned to; his body felt like one single bruise). Sadiq groaned but all that left his mouth was a toneless whimper. What had happened to him? The last thing he remembered was turning a corner at his place. Gupta had come over to inform him about Karpusi's disappearance that had occurred three days before. The Egyptian had said that there had been some noise coming from upstairs so he had limped to the staircase to check the second floor but there hadn't been the slightest trace of anything. Now he was laying face-first on a cold concrete floor and couldn't move a muscle. It just didn't make sense.

"How is our other guest doing?" A cheerful voice inquired, coated in a heavy accent his numb mind could not define. Now a third person entered the conversation, all of them were male it seemed.

"He is asleep. He slept almost all day." The new one said with the liveliness of an answering machine.

"Conserving his energy? Smart of him. Did you tell him that he was free to request anything within your means?"

"I did so." The voice replied quietly. "He asked for nothing but alcohol." A short silence followed this statement and the Turk on the ground imagined the question-poser raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"I gave him a glass of whisky… All he did was laugh, as though I did something hilarious." The man sounded confused by the stranger's actions. If he had been in a better condition and not quite as preoccupied with his current (admittedly very helpless) situation Sadiq might have given it a thought as well but as it were he couldn't care less. He just wanted them to finally spill some useful information. Or let him go. He definitely preferred the second.

"He is a weird one; how exciting."

"Should we move him now?" Came the hesitant reply and the Turk on the ground finally settled his mind on wondering who they were talking about, he couldn't suppress the feeling that this other man had something to do with him and their plans; mostly he wondered who_ they_ were, though.

"Yes, both of them. I bet they will be delighted." Sadiq was determined to remain silent so they would not pay attention to him and keep talking, but at that moment he inhaled a cloud of dust. The fine particles stung the sensitive spot of his throat and irritated his nerves. He coughed, quietly due to his condition, but with enough force to interrupt the emotionless report given by the newcomer. At once the whole room was quiet enough to hear a feather fall to the ground. So much for spying on them…

"Good morning, Mr. Adnan. You weren't meant to wake up already but since you did… It's a pleasure to meet you." Now that his mind had cleared a little Sadiq was able to put a name to the accent that weighed down every word of his kidnapper. It was Russian.

"My name is Ivan Braginski, I fear you haven't heard of me yet but I've heard of you. I hope you will enjoy your stay with me." The man continued in that cheerful tone that sickened him to the bone. The Turk didn't move, not even opened his eyes, he refused to grant his captor an honor like acknowledgment of his existence. Unaffected by his listener's lack of reaction the Russian continued: "I am sure you have a lot of questions. I cannot answer them yet. How about you sleep a little more and let the drugs wear off?"

Probably out of stubbornness or simply to prove that he was stronger than the other man assumed Sadiq forced his mouth open and then spat with all the contempt he could muster: "Fuck… you…" Now he couldn't resist the urge to look at the stranger that held him captive for no obvious reason anymore. His eyelids were as heavy as cement when he lifted them. A tall platinum blond man stared down at him with big, strangely violet eyes. His face reminded him of a child; this man seemed to have the same innocent curiosity as any infant. Ivan gave him a placid smile and turned to the person next to him. "He is just as lively as you said. I'm so excited." He looked like he was about to clap his hands in joy. Instinctively Sadiq's eyes searched for the one he had spoken to. Next to the door stood a young brunette man but that wasn't the one. His gaze flitted to the spot next to Braginski. His insides turned to ice and he felt his entire composure blunder. He jerked upwards only to find that his hands were tied behind his back. Without his arms to support his weight he lost his balance as quickly as he had regained it and slumped to the ground with a low groan. He struggled to get into an upright position anyway while his eyes were fixed to the man next to that Ivan guy. It didn't make any sense. He was still delusional from the drugs they had given him, that was the only realistic explanation. But his mind was too awake to deny reality. Sadiq stared. Dull, amber eyes stared back.

His expression must have displayed his disbelieving confusion for now the other man raised his voice. "Good day, Sadiq." It sounded just like any day. He never had thought much of it. Now he wanted to lunge at him for daring to speak his name. Gupta crossed his arms before his chest, he suddenly looked so superior. The enormous Russian next to him didn't weaken that impression. However the Turk wasn't that easy to impress. He barked a few crude things, in both, Turkish and English, positive that his former assistant would understand the message. He could, quite frankly, suck his dick. Fucking traitor.

Ivan smiled sweetly at his outburst but naturally the Egyptian didn't move a muscle in his face. Sadiq snarled wildly like a dog that was cornered and bared his teeth in disgust, "You fucker! I trusted you, you bastard!"

"I know." Gupta merely replied. His voice was as cool and composed as always, so indifferent. The whole situation had to be some sick kind of joke. If his body had played along and not been tied up, both of them knew that, Sadiq would not have hesitated to kill his former companion. The Turk gave a bitter laugh. "So whatcha want? My money? Tryin' to take me hostage and or hand me to the police to get some extra cash? Want to take over my company?"

A hint of sadness stole into the Egyptian's eyes and Ivan's smile widened to a toothy grin. He said: "It's a bit more complicated. Be at ease and rest until I have reunited you with your pet that went astray, will you?"

The odd choice of words affected Sadiq only peripherally. He never had been a friend of metaphors. People ought to get straight to the point. "Whatever. Just answer me one question." He demanded, eyes focusing on Braginski. Meanwhile Gupta stepped behind him and he had to fight the urge to turn around and attack the bastard. Instead Sadiq released the full force of his deadliest glare, aiming at the Russian in front of him. That one tilted his head a little, like a confused puppy, and then sang: "Maybe"

"Am I going to survive this shit?"

Suddenly a hot stabbing pain exploded in his neck followed by a bit of cold pressure that started to creep through his veins. Before he could gather what was happening an overwhelming tiredness washed over him and drained out all efforts to stay awake. His eyes seemingly closed without his doing and the floor came right at him. Then his connection to reality bid him farewell and he drifted into a heavy, dreamless state of sleep.

He didn't get an answer.

* * *

The lights of the suburbs flew by the window, merging with each other and forming a single stream of bright colors that stood drastically against the black night sky. He couldn't tell where the car was going for he had stopped paying attention to the street signs. He knew that was exactly the wrong thing to do. He had to gather as much information as possible. But he simply didn't care, or rather: He was too strung-out to focus on anything.

He leaned his head against the cold glass and stared outside with bloodshot eyes. He felt better. His wounds were nursed and the drugs in his system dulled the pain until it was barely noticeable. That was a relief and he had been able to relax, at least to some extent. He glanced at the front of the car. Behind bullet-proof glass the long ponytail of his Asian companion, even in his mind that word was soaked with sarcasm, gently waved in the breeze that came from the open driver's window. Heracles had tried to start a conversation from time to time, but either his listener had been too uncooperative or he couldn't concentrate enough to keep track. His clouded gaze wandered to his hands. They were tied, resting on his thigh as if he was praying. He found himself marveling about structure of his skin. Many scars ran across his knuckles and arms, he could see it. Not once he had asked when they had appeared, he just had accepted them as proof of his life. He had never thought of himself as a violent man, but his hands proved different. That startled him. He remembered to have been advised to sleep but he had done that for the past four days. Wasn't it time to wake up already? Yet they kept his mind dulled and dazed, his body could barely move on its own and sleeping seemed like such an easy way to escape his situation for a while. As the vehicle raced through the darkness following the way of an old country road that was invisible beneath the car tires the Greek's eyelids grew heavy. His dreams had been a mess during the past days. Understandable, considering the mess he was stuck in. Memories stumbled through his sleeping mind like a wounded soldier on the uneven, muddy battlefield. He gave a low sigh that surely was swallowed by the growling of the motor. Sometimes, before his inner eye, he saw Antonio and Romano standing in their old working place, waiting for his return. A cynic, experienced part of his brain kept repeating that this was wishful thinking and that his comrades had him pegged as dead already. Then there were times he saw things that lay farther in the past. More often than not Heracles was pestered with the sight of Sadiq Adnan. That was a logical consequence as well since their meeting in Izmir had been quite the crucial confrontation with a handful of feelings and thoughts, memories and fears Heracles didn't want to deal with. His subconscious tried to make up for that. Even so… It was outrageous that that bastard didn't even have the decency to stay out of his dreams. It was no different this time. Heracles found himself standing in a white room he had never seen before. In front of him, only a few meters away, sat said Turk in a large armchair like a king. He had his cheek rested on his fist as he leant on the elbow he had placed on the armrest. His legs were crossed, he seemed perfectly at ease and not the least bit fazed to meet the Greek in such a place. He rather appeared to have been waiting for him. Heracles couldn't see his eyes but the sneer that exposed his canines was all the better to spot. An instinctive shudder ran down his spine as he scrutinized the dark figure motionlessly sitting there just a bit out of his reach. Unsure whether to charge at him or turn on his heels and run for it the southerner just stood frozen in place, waiting for something to happen. Just when that thought had manifested in his mind life came to the foreign man and he straightened up. His voice echoed dangerously around Heracles when he said, seemingly without any context: "You are scared of me."

It didn't sound like a question, it was a simple statement. Heracles considered pouncing on the slightly taller man and, if necessary, tearing up his throat with his teeth but then abandoned that thought. This was a dream, after all. He hadn't really talked to anyone lately and he wanted to know what Adnan had to say. So he refrained from speaking but took a step closer, tilting his head with an emotionless expression.

"You are scared of me." Adnan said again, even his voice was mocking him. "So scared that you can't even breathe."

Before Heracles could retort anything all oxygen left his lungs. Panic-struck the man grabbed his own throat and feverishly tried to inhale, his body shaken with cramps. Eyes wide, he watched the Turk rise from his seat, approaching him with slow steps. "If you don't breathe you'll die." Sadiq smiled, stating the obvious. _Wrong_, Heracles thought, _this is a dream. I won't die, you sick fuck. _Still he gave his best to calm himself down until his muscles were relaxed enough to let him breathe again. He gasped for air and coughed helplessly, backing away from the other man watching him.

"I didn't come to harm you, Heracles." Adnan mumbled, burying his hands in the pockets of his casual jeans. He seemed concerned, the sneer had disappeared. The Greek just snorted and rubbed his neck carefully. "I'm serious. In fact, I never wanted to harm you. Not once. Guardian angels don't do such things." The scoffing expression returned to the Turk's face. Heracles felt the color leave his face.

How could he know? Never had he ever told anyone about that terribly embarrassing (and very surreal) image he had had of Sadiq Adnan when he had been a child. There was no way –But of course. This was a dream, he now remembered. That wasn't the same Turk he had encountered in Izmir, that wasn't the man that had destroyed half of his life after he had saved it. This was just another method his confused mind had come up with to torture him with. Heracles snarled, nonetheless. "I was naïve and stupid enough to search for the good in your rotten soul, that's all." He barked. In return Sadiq spread his arms as if he wanted to embrace him, "Said the man who couldn't even muster up enough compassion to save a young boy from starving in the streets."

What the hell? The memory of the little kid that had tried to steal his money was blurred, just a shadow in his mind. He remembered feeling a little guilty when he had walked away and left the youngster to his fate. So his sick mind had chosen Sadiq Adnan, of all people, to act as his conscience now?

"Pardon me, but you're obviously mistaking for someone who gives a fuck." Heracles straightened up and began to walk away from this weird nonsense of a dream or rather nightmare. As he left the white, wall-less room he could hear the Turk call out to him from the distance: "See ya later, kid! Don't get yourself killed." and if he hadn't been on the verge of waking up Heracles might have hesitated and turned around at that comment.

The car door slammed open with a startling noise of metal plates crashing against each other. Two hands grabbed him by his shoulders and roughly pulled him out of the vehicle. He couldn't adjust to the change of perspective quickly enough and would have fallen over if those hands had not chosen to steady him now. The second he made no contact with the car anymore he heard someone hit the gas pedal and the dark Mercedes raced off into the night without delay. In front of the man stood the Chinese and eyed him with a stern expression and cold eyes. "Follow me." He commanded and then walked towards an unsuspicious door a little farther down the alley. Now Heracles took a moment to examine his surroundings. They stood in the backyard of a high building, probably a penthouse. Slowly the Greek followed in the wake of his warden, hands still tied, gaze still dull and lifeless. They wandered through a few narrow corridors and somehow ended up in an elevator. Not a word was spoken during their journey upwards that seemingly went on forever. Heracles' head began to reel. After a while a bell rang and a female voice informed them in Greek that they had reached the fifteenth floor. The lift opened and revealed a bright hall that ended in a white door that was decorated with heavy locks. The Chinaman led him to said door and swiftly pushed it open after unlocking it.

"Welcome home." The petite man muttered with a touch of dark humor and simply pushed the Greek through the entry and the door slammed shut behind him. That one's foot got caught under the carpet and he stumbled, fell to his knees and hit his elbows on the ground. He remained in that position for a moment, trying to reorganize his thoughts. Damned drugs.

"No need to grovel at my feet, a simply 'hello' would have sufficed." A dark, hoarse voice remarked smugly. Heracles' head snapped up. He needed another two seconds to focus his eyes on his new surroundings. Everything was colored in light colors, the floor, the furniture, the walls as well. He blinked several times but then he could see the speaker clearly. And what he saw drained all color from his face. He straightened up a little, unsure what to think of all this. He couldn't trust his eyes in this state, he decided. He had to be mistaken but just in case he had to ask: "Is this a dream…?" His tongue was heavy, his words slurred from not being used for some hours.

Sadiq's eyes widened for a second. He had expected any kind of reaction but this. He had braced himself for fists coming down on him, for strangling hands, teeth sinking into his flesh, for cursing and his head getting slammed against the wall several times. That was what he had expected Heracles Karpusi to do. Instead the Greek was on his knees, gazing up at him with utter confusion written all over his scraped and bruised face. The question lingered in the air around them. He couldn't decide what to do. A major part of his mind told him to go and snap the younger man's neck this instant before he could recover from his shock but that was impossible for starters because he couldn't bring himself to do it. This situation was so different from everything he had ever imagined possible. Since Heracles showed no aggression Sadiq somehow felt repelled to provoke him. He was in no condition to fight, no matter how you looked at it. Same went for the other. Then Sadiq remembered the posed question. He shifted uncomfortable in his seat, having his hands tied behind his back made it difficult to relax in an armchair. That was another reason why a fight was out of question now; he simply couldn't use his hands. After a moment of silence the Turk grumbled: "What kinda dreams do ya have, eh?"

The Grecian blinked slowly but didn't answer his counter question. "Adnan?" He mumbled after another period of heavy silence. That one rolled his eyes. "Of course, you retard." He snapped. "Is your brain really that clouded and damaged that you can't recognize your..." Sadiq paused. His what? Enemy? If he said that Heracles surely would remember that he was supposed to be a murderous psychotic bastard. Boss? He couldn't say that either for it would have the same effect. In the end he settled for: "…that you can't recognize an old acquaintance?"

That seemed to clear the daze in the younger man's mind to some extent. His eyes brightened and the same cold intelligent gleam that the Turk had come to know so well in the past entered them. The next thing Heracles did was curse. He swore in all languages he could think of. "Why you?" He finally managed to spat. Yeah, that was more like it.

Sadiq hissed: "I could ask the same, you brat. Now shut the fuck up!"

Surprisingly he really did. Heracles stared blankly at the other man and didn't budge. Maybe the drugs hadn't worn off yet after all. So Sadiq decided to find out if that lunatic knew more than him. He was sure the kid would talk, dazed as he was.

"Where are we?" That was an easy enough question for that drugged Greek to answer, wasn't it? Still he remained silent for an unnerving long moment. Then he replied quietly, his eyes fixed on something behind the Turk: "Greece."

"Splendid. Why the hell are we here?" Sadiq rushed through his mind, hurriedly collecting the most important questions.

"Don't know. I woke up in a basement… few days ago."

"This Russian fucker! He'll regret the day he crossed my path. Gupta, too!" Now it was his turn to cuss.

"Who?" The Greek asked lamely, shifting his weight as he tried to maintain a steady sitting position. He didn't seem likely to attack but Sadiq sat up, eyes wandering around attentively, anyway. Then he grudgingly muttered: "Gupta. Egyptian dude. You met him once."

That reminder of their time together sent a bolt through both of them and they glared at each other for a moment, waiting for one another to make a wrong move. When neither of them made any attempts to fling himself at the other they relaxed a little but now the hatred between them stood tall like a wall again.

"Not him" Heracles hissed. "What did you say about a Russian?"

"Yeah, Ivan Whatshisname." He shrugged. "He's the evil mastermind behind all this bullshit. Gupta works for him, that damn traitor." Paying no heed to the Greek's uncomprehending expression he continued: "He knocked me out and then brought me here. They probably did the same to your sorry ass. Now I get what that bastard meant by 'reuniting me with my pet', haha, that guy has an intact funny bone, alright. Fucking cunt! Gonna kill him."

Heracles had stopped trying to understand the Turk's seemingly senselessly arranged fragments of sentences, his head ached already. Instead he tried to free his hands. He took the tightly knotted rope between his teeth and pulled at it in an attempt to loosen it. The hard textile slipped his hold and he bit his tongue. "Fuck" He interrupted Sadiq's rant. Shoving his tongue around in his mouth Heracles asked: "Since when are you here?" He needed to regain his sense of time. The other man shrugged again, it seemed he didn't really care. "Half a day, I guess. Some brat brought me some water a few hours ago. Said my new roommate was on the way. Now I get it."

Before Heracles could retort anything witty they could hear the locks being undone outside the door. They turned their eyes to the supposed exit when a tall, dark figure entered the bright friendly colored room.

"Ah, you already had a little chit-chat. I'm happy. That shows you will get along." The man chirped in a weird child- like fashion. He passed Heracles who hadn't moved from where had hit the floor and gave him a, probably well-meant, pat on the head as if he was an obedient dog. To shatter that fantasy at once the Greek growled wildly and cursed at the Russian, jerking away from him. He hadn't needed a second to understand that this person was the one Adnan had been talking about. The tall northerner turned to look at the man sitting on the ground and a smile flickered across his face, eyes gleaming like wildfire for a split-second, then his large leather-gloved hand struck. He slapped him across the face, hard. Heracles' head flew to one side and he lost his balance, falling over and landing on his shoulder with a short groan. "Now, now, I do not approve of such a behavior from my dear guests." He informed him. The tied up men were silent in return.

"Good. Since our Grecian friend doesn't know me yet, I'd like to introduce myself. I am Ivan Braginski." He smiled happily. "You probably have a lot of questions. Now, I have put off Mr. Adnan already, I will answer a few of them so choose wisely."

Sadiq didn't hesitate to bark: "What do you want from me?"

Ivan's amethyst gaze wandered to Heracles who squatted on the floor motionlessly, eyes glued to his tied hands. Then he answered quietly: "What I want, from both of you, is not the question. It depends on what you are able to give to me." He held up one hand to stop all possible interjections and insults. "You see, I like to see myself as an investor. I am young but in a rather short amount of time I have brought most of East Europe's criminal society under my control. I also set foot in China, even though the Triad is giving me some trouble. How did I manage that, you ask?" They hadn't asked. "I am not only an ambitious business man, I also am a scientist. There is nothing as fascinating to me as the human psyche, its weaknesses, its flaws and magnificent mechanisms. After all, isn't it fascinating how we are able to throw all scruples overboard when exposed to the objects we desire the most? Sadiq, you should know what I'm talking about." A dark knowing grin flashed up on the Russian's face and the Turk flinched as if he had received a punch in the stomach. Guilt stood plain to see in his eyes before he hid it behind a mask of indifference. He turned his face away from the Greek who now was glaring daggers at him.

"So, I thought," Ivan continued his speech. "Why not combine my hobby with my job? I invited the heads of prosperous companies and societies to my house and friendlily asked them to hand over their business to me. Of course, I needed to be convincing, which I was. After two days without water your brain surely isn't as resisting anymore. There were stubborn ones, as well, and I had come up with other methods and I began to turn it into a game: 'Who will yield first?' I have studied your pasts with great thoroughness and I am very sure that you will be a challenge, both of you. Out of personal interest I have chosen to take both of you in at the same time. I want to know how you will interact after a few days of my treatment, which, by the way, I came up with especially for you." The Russian was lost in his thoughts for a while, blankly staring into a corner. When Heracles spat some blood on the floor Ivan seemed to remember his audience. "I don't want to bore you, my dear guests. Long story short: I want everything you can give to me, your money, your companies, your subordinates, your power, your lives. You are the mightiest men in the world of organized crime in the Mediterranean area and North Africa. It would give my career quite the boost if you agreed to work for me."

"As if!" The Turk snorted. Who did that guy think he was? He could hear Heracles chuckle condescendingly in the background. "No matter what you sicko have in store, I'd rather swallow acid then just throw away everything I own. Working for you! That's rich!" Sadiq let out a nasty laugh that rang with scorn. However, Ivan just kept the placid smile fixed on his face, "I knew you were proud, but pride has its limits. You have met Yao Wang. He was an outright spitfire. It only took me two weeks to tame him, though. Now he's calm as a kitten and obedient like a well-trained dog." That name didn't ring a bell to both of the captives but they weren't interested in details anyway.

"If you think you'll get away with this shit-" The Greek started but was interrupted by his captor raising his hands in an appeasing manner.

"For today I will let you get used to your new home. We will have much time to talk. Don't think you can escape and please don't try. It is always so bothersome nursing people's wounds after their failed flight attempts." The man turned for the door and put his hand on the knob. Without turning around he added: "Should one of you have more wounds or even be dead when I return tomorrow… The other will suffer on behalf of both of you. I can't allow my subjects to hurt each other. That would ruin the test results."

Sadiq looked at the Greek on the ground whose head snapped around to glare at the opposite wall. They jumped in unison when the door was closed. The next second Heracles was on his feet and began to explore the dark aisle that led out of the room into another area. A short exclamation of victory followed and one minute later he stormed back into what was probably supposed to be a living room where Sadiq was still busy gathering the information they had gotten. Heracles rubbed his wrists that now were untied; he held a knife in one hand. At the sight of it the Turk jumped to his feet and backed away from him.

"Calm down, you bastard. I have my priorities. Saving my life is more important than ending yours. It wouldn't be fun like this anyway. You look perfectly terrified."

He was sure the Greek was lying. "Then cut my ties!" He demanded, taking a step closer.

"No. What do I care about you? I just want the fuck out of here. Now move your ass." Heracles shoved the older man aside going to examine the large windows that made up the western wall of the room. Below them a dark depth yawned that only was illuminated by the few car lights that passed by on the narrow street. Seeing as the windows held no exit opportunities he turned to the door and let his hands ran over the smooth metal. Sadiq narrowed his eyes as he watched the other. In his eyes his efforts were futile. If the Russian told the truth it was impossible to get out of this cage. They didn't even have weapons. The close proximity of each other didn't help to concentrate either. Heracles' eyes swept over the room again, obviously ignoring the Turk, giving him the same acknowledgement as a plant in the corner. Sadiq couldn't help but notice all the changes about the younger male. It had been obvious before, on photos, CCTV camera shootings, even in the dim light of the Konak Place, but now they somehow stroke him even harder. He had actually grown a bit after he had left, it seemed. His back was broader and his golden skin stretched over distinct muscles that shifted delicately as he moved. His dark brown hair now reached down to his chin curling as the brushed against his jaw. The most significant changes were to be seen in his face, though. Those green-blue eyes, oceanic azure sometimes, jade green on other occasions, had lost that innocent glistening of a curious child that had never left them even when he been physically a grown-up. Heracles never had been a carefree person, how could he have been, considering his past?, but now it seemed as if there was no trace of peace in his features at all. Had his experiences reduced his available emotions to nothing but hatred and anger? If so, it was Sadiq's fault and he knew it. He didn't like the path his thoughts were taking as he stared at the Greek. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice, after all– Suddenly Heracles' head snapped around and his gaze pierced sharply into his.

"What?" The Grecian man bellowed violently. The other flinched, shaken from his thoughts. "You idiot!" He retorted, just as angry. "You heard him, there ain't a way out. Now fucking untie me!"

"The hell I will. In fact, I should knock you out, just to have a moment of silence. If you just want to sit here and give up, fine. Not my problem. But don't get yourself killed, because that's my job." His voice faltered a little at the end of his infuriated little speech and then he turned away from him, ignoring all the insults Sadiq threw at him in return.

However, in the end it was clear that he had been right. There was no way to escape. They were caught in this luxurious prison cell like animals until their captor had other plans.

* * *

Antonio heaved a loud sigh and slumped into the cheap armchair that creaked in protest. The last hours he had spent putting requests, orders, trades and what not on hold. He hadn't known how much work that was. He had always assumed, secretly of course, that Senor Karpusi did nothing but down Ouzo, sleep and enjoy female company in his bureau. Now he knew better. Romano, who probably had heard him return, now entered the room in each hand a cell phone. One of them he tossed into the Spaniard's lap. "Anything new?"

"Nothing. I've called everyone I know, everyone he knows, every hospital and every jail. It's like he disappeared into thin air." He slapped his hands over his eyes and rubbed his face. "There must be something we haven't tried yet."

"I'm telling you, he's probably lying dead in some ditch by the road." The Italian growled and limped to his side, sitting down on the armrest.

"Don't say such things." Antonio softly reprimanded his partner. Similar thoughts have started to invade his mind as well, though. They couldn't give up just like that. It was their friend they were talking about!

"He's not dead."

"Tell that to yourself, you bastard. But you know the odds." Romano had a point there. They had searched all of Izmir and its outskirts but hadn't found a single trace of the missing Greek. Still, even a dead body had to turn up somewhere. So, in fact, since they hadn't found him the chances were good that he was still alive. Antonio found himself clinging to that thought.

"Oh yeah… Adnan disappeared, too." Romano interrupted the Spanish man's mental chanting. With widened eyes he stared at the Italian who now played around with the flat mobile phone in his hands.

"What?" He had to make sure he hadn't misunderstood. That couldn't be a coincidence. The younger male leaned back, a cold gleam in his golden eyes. "I said he has disappeared as well."

No five minutes later the two men had left the hotel and dashed towards the car waiting around the corner. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Antonio demanded, uncharacteristically angry.

"I told you as soon as I knew! What's your problem?" The other hissed, trying to keep up with the Spaniard.

"That changes everything. Get in the car." That one instructed.

Romano slumped into the pillion seat and watched Antonio surround the front of the vehicle and get in as well. He let the motor howl before hitting the gas and wordlessly setting off. As he steered through the streets of Izmir, going way too fast, the Spaniard growled: "How do you know?"

"You have your contacts and I have mine, jerk. I'm not a child, I have my own methods." He got interrupted when the other turned a corner, spinning the steering wheel violently around to keep the car under control. Romano grabbed the dashboard for support. "Fucking watch it, you crazy ass!"

"That both disappeared isn't a coincidence. Think of it, Romano." His partner growled and expedited again. "What if Adnan has kidnapped Senor Karpusi and is holding him captive somewhere?"

Romano had thought of that. "Well, bummer." He rolled his eyes. "Where are you going anyway?"

"Adnan's place, of course."

There was silence for a moment. Then the Italian raged: "You fucking bastard! You know his hide-out? Why didn't you tell us? What's wrong with you? We could have ended this crap ages ago!"

"Maybe. Or Senor Karpusi would have thrown all caution overboard, stormed the place and had himself killed in a matter of seconds." came the dark reply. That made sense. Lately the Greek bastard had been as explosive as a truck full of C4. Now he could see where that got him!

Romano grumbled something unintelligible and sat back, eyes fixed to the front window.

"Fine, and why are we heading there? Adnan is gone, too, remember? He won't be home, knitting in a rocking chair by the fireplace, will he?" The Italian scoffed.

"No, but he will have some of his subordinates run the place during his absence. We'll grab us one of them and beat information out of them. That's the plan."

Antonio hit the brakes and the car stopped with screeching tires right when a stream of passengers cut their way over the crossroad. He cursed quietly and Romano wondered to what extremes the man would go if it was him missing.

Thanks to Antonio's mad driving style it only took them half an hour to leave town and find their way to the Turk's mansion that sat at the foot of a small hill. They parked a little down the road and then left the car and didn't bother to lock the doors. The house in front of them was high-tech to the core, it seemed. An electric fence bordered the estate and made it impossible to simply walk in. The same thought occurred to the Spaniard for his expression darkened even more. Antonio Carriedo was not an angry man; therefore he was outright terrifying when he was in such a mood. Terrifying enough for his Italian friend to not remark anything when he walked up to the intercom he had spotted next to the locked gate. He rang the bell, an unnerving buzzing tone. Romano grabbed the gun holstered in his waistband. What was that idiotic Spaniard doing?

"Yes?" A female voice growled after a few clacking sounds. The men's heads snapped up and one second later Romano's weapon was loaded and its safety catch released. Antonio raised one hand to stop him. Then he turned back to the machine and put one hand on the wall it was integrated in. he leaned closer so that the one on the other end of the line could hear him clearly. His voice was quiet and deadly.

"Ms Héderváry, we have to talk."

* * *

**Don't even know why I'm still uploading stuff here. I doubt anyone is reading this XD**


	9. Chapter 9

The room was filled with semi-darkness, to say the least. The only source of light was the flickering screen of a computer in the corner that through its pale blue shine on the wall and desk. It barely reached their eyes. Their hands laid on the cold steel of their guns, eyes hard, glistening like gems in this shaky absence of light. Behind them shallow shadows wobbled on the walls, twisting and swirling around one another. They crept closer, grasped at their shoulders and the chairs the two men were sitting on. Nervous excitement and deadly calculation played in their features, making their mouths twitch and eyes flit around in their sockets. Finally the door in front of them opened. The frame of a young woman approached them, slowly emerging from the blackness of the corridor. The anxiety radiating from the smaller male intensified and warped into sheer hatred. Antonio's hand tensed around the handle of his weapon, safely hidden under the table. Despite the fury he felt seeing his beloved Italian in such anguish and despite all the blame he put on the Hungarian assassin in front of him he wouldn't want to see anyone get into a fight. He tried to take Romano's hand or at least make contact with him in some way but he flinched away. A worried sigh, barely audible on his lips the Spaniard turned his attention back to their hostess.

"Don't think I haven't seen your guns. Put them aside." She demanded in a clear voice, her words rang with authority. Neither of them made a move for a while. Then, slowly, deliberately Antonio placed his Magnum on the table he sat at. He figured that at least one of them should act like a mature adult. He could feel his companion's incredulous stare on his face. Without turning his head he muttered: "Put the gun on the table."

Elizaveta's eyes flitted to the seat next to him. A few seconds passed in silence but then Romano's gun rested next to Antonio's. The Hungarian relaxed visibly, apparently she had come unarmed.

"So, you said we needed to talk. If you came to try and blackmail me I can already assure you that it won't work that way." She started off, marching up and down angrily in front of them.

"Since we don't have anything to blackmail you with…" Antonio trailed off mid-sentence. "Wait, why should we even try that?"

Interrupted in her thoughts, it appeared, Elizaveta stopped her infuriated march and looked up. "Isn't that why you are here? Or did you already kill him? I'm telling you, if Sadiq's dead I will–"

"Cut the crap, bitch." Romano hissed. "Just tell us where Karpusi is and we'll kill you later." Paying no heed to the Italian's thread she turned to the Spaniard. "Karpusi?" Her expression was just as puzzled as his. "What's with him?"

"Don't play dumb! You fuckers killed him, didn't you?" Romano barked before Antonio could even react. Immediately all eyes were on the younger man.

"Karpusi is dead?" She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She didn't seem to have a clue about what was going on. Did that mean Sadiq wasn't the one behind Heracles disappearance?

"No. That means… We don't know where he is right now, but he sure isn't dead." Antonio replied, making a thoughtful sound with his tongue. "Why would Adnan be?" He asked swiftly, hoping to bring some clarity to the situation. All this was very confusing.

The Hungarian's eyes narrowed with a frown. "He disappeared as well, along with his assistant."

"So did Senor Karpusi!" The Spaniard interjected, baffled by the coincidence.

Distrust was plain to see on the other two's faces.

"So it's possible Karpusi abducted Sadiq." Elizaveta snarled, jumping to conclusions at once. The Spaniard shook his head. "I doubt that. He would have called or been seen by now if that was the case. It's like the earth itself swallowed him. Maybe Adnan abducted him." He retorted.

"Impossible, he wasn't in the condition to even take two steps without staggering."

"Then where does that leave us?"

The brunette woman flicked her hair back and put her hands on her hips. Her eyes wandered back and forth between the two southerners in front of her, both returning her stare with determined coldness. After a while of silent pondering she said: "I still believe Karpusi is the one behind Sadiq's disappearance but right now we have two missing leaders and no clue where they could be. We should focus on that."

Romano choked a little. "What the fuck? 'We'! 'We' should nothing, you bitch!" He jumped to his feet and for a second his partner feared he might reach for his gun. Luckily he was satisfied by pounding his fist on the table. "We have nothing to do with you! The last time I'll see you is when I cut your decrepit head off your fucking shoulders!"

Elizaveta took the insults without a blink of the eye, gave a short nod and turned to the Spanish man again. She clearly thought of him as the leader. Himself, he wasn't so sure. Then she said, almost drowned out by Romano's angry huffing: "We should work together. The fact that both of them disappeared most likely means that the cases are related to each other. Together we might find them sooner, and hopefully not dead."

The two men exchanged a long gaze, pleas circled in the Spaniard's green orbs. The Italian shook his head vehemently but Antonio had already made up his mind. "Fine, let's work together." He declared before his partner could interrupt him. The Hungarian held her hand out in return. "Truce?" She asked sternly.

"Truce."

Romano watched as they shook hands. He watched as Antonio took his gun and rose from his chair, motioning him to do the same. He watched as Antonio walked next to the Hungarian killer, talking about possible allies and bribery. He was silent the whole time.

Truce, he had said. Antonio had shaken hands with the woman that had killed his little brother. That thought brought a bitter taste on his tongue. Romano flinched mentally, realizing: Antonio had his priorities; and he stood clearly below the goddamn Greek in that ranking. A wave of jealousy washed over him, merged with fury and disbelief. Of course, the Spaniard would do anything to save his beloved boss. Romano didn't want to believe that the Greek was more important to him than he. How could Antonio disrespect his feelings so much?

Hurt flickered across his face while his heart tightened violently, as if someone grabbed it with an iron grip and squeezed it hard.

He wasn't sure how, but now he was standing next to their car, no trace of Elizaveta to be found. He looked over at his so called partner who just gave him a confident smile and entered the vehicle and then waited for him. Romano slammed the door shut when he sat down, not bothering to put the seatbelt on. The taller man didn't say a word about what just had happened; all he did was hum a cheerful tune and steer the car on the highway. As the feeling of victory radiated from Antonio and another song broke from his lips the young Italian next to him suddenly found himself wishing feverishly for Heracles Karpusi's death.

* * *

"Wake up." A groggy, hoarse voice told him. When he didn't move he received a kick in the side, a rather crude one. Still half-asleep, he groaned, cringing away from the surprising pain, reminding his body of all the grazes, sprained bones and bruised skin. Sadiq forced his eyes open just to be met by glaring sunlight falling through a wide window plane, partly covered by blinds. His first impulse was to sit up, supporting his weight on his hands, but then he had to learn that he was still tied up. He rolled over and looked up. A sleepy Greek was staring back at him. Then his memories caught up with him. In response to that he shut his eyes and grunted reluctantly. Then he sat up with no help from his new roommate. "Why'd you wake me, asshole?" He complained immediately. Heracles turned his back on him and walked over to the small kitchen section, reaching for the knife on the counter. When he returned he held it as though he wanted to stab him. "I have no intention to clean this place up and before you piss on the good carpet I thought I was better off with you using the bathroom." He explained matter-of-factly as if Sadiq was nothing more than a dog. When the Turkish man pointed that out he replied: "A creature that makes such noises in its sleep can just… be related to a scabby street dog. Now move it, Fido."

Taken aback by not the insult but the rather unfitting amount of humor in Heracles' voice, or by the fact that the Greek could joke at all, Sadiq turned around and presented his tied hands to him. The other man knelt down behind him, grabbed the ropes and started to cut them. The closeness with which the blade of the kitchen knife passed his wrists unsettled the Turk. He hated having a disadvantage. But then his hands were free and the blood rushed into them. He rubbed his palms together, trying to chase the coldness of his skin away. Heracles straightened up slowly; his body clearly wasn't unharmed either.

When the Turk returned from the bathroom, admittedly, he had been in need of it, Heracles was standing in the small kitchen area and rummaged through a few drawers.

"What're you doing now?" Sadiq demanded. The answer was curt and hostile: "Searching."

"No shit, wiseass. What are you searching for?" He muttered grudgingly as he dragged his feet to the low couch in the middle of the room. There were no walls that separated the different areas, besides the bathroom and a small bedroom in the back of the apartment. Instead of an answer the rattling of cutlery continued. Sadiq sat down with a huff. Despite his best hopes a night of sleep hadn't improved the situation at all. He massaged his temples, now that he finally could move his arms again. Then he glanced at Heracles suspiciously. He didn't know what to think of the other man. Why hadn't he tried to kill him yet? Was it really that Russian's threat that kept him alive? Not that he would lose to him, but anyway…

A moment later the Greek came into sight again, a clearly unsatisfied look on his face. That didn't surprise Sadiq. That brat never had worn a different expression for as long as he could remember. A sudden memory of Heracles, his face twisted with pain and tears streaming down his cheeks, flashed up in his mind, belying his earlier thought. The familiar sting of guilt penetrated his mind, twisting its way deep down into his chest. He pushed it away, buried it beneath other thoughts. He wouldn't yield to such emotions, especially not before those loathing, judgmental, green-gleaming eyes. Sadiq put on an emotionless mask and met the cold glare head on. He watched the younger male take a seat in a leather armchair opposite of the couch the Turk was occupying. His hair was still tangled from sleeping; he hadn't spent a moment fixing his appearance, it seemed. The black jacket was crinkled and covered in dirt. Sadiq briefly wondered if the Greek had even undressed before he had gone to bed. He guessed not and tried to picture Heracles, curled up on one side, his clothes out of place, the crumpled shirt revealing a slim line of golden skin above the waistband of his pants and the blanket tangled around his limbs. He imagined the innocent expression on his face half hidden by his chocolate brown bangs, his lips slightly parted to suck in the cool air in a steady rhythm, his eyelids fluttering and a sleepy, almost inaudible moan escaping his mouth. Then Sadiq mentally slapped himself.

"Are you even listening?" Heracles growled. Apparently he had been talking the whole time. Anger rushed through the Turk. That damned Greek had nerve! Walking around like he was in charge or something!

"Fuck off" He retorted wittily. Guessing the implied 'No, I am not' in his answer Heracles started again.

"I was thinking about the things that guy, Ivan, has said. To me it sounded as if we got reduced to guinea pigs. He's going to experiment with us." That caused both men to imagine very unpleasant things. The Greek continued: "But if that Russian bastard wants a game he can have it. I don't care what you are planning to do but I'd like to inform you… that I will gladly hand your ass to him if it helps me. I won't lose to him."

Before he could even think it over Sadiq retorted: "Same here!"

That elicited a scornful chuckle from the other. "As if you had any useful information about me."

The Turk's expression darkened. That was true and a small, dumb part of his mind felt like this would never change; as if he had ever known anything about the young Greek, as if he ever would. No, Heracles would never let him in, no matter what he did. Thankfully the other, rational part quickly silenced those thoughts with the harsh reality. The Greek had that stupid virus installed on his computers and he could only guess what data had found its way to him. Annoyed by himself Sadiq brushed the man's comment aside with his hand. "What do you know? I have more information than you think." He lied nonchalantly. Heracles didn't seem impressed. That only infuriated him further. Why the hell did that little bastard feel so high and mighty? Both of them knew how quickly he could be put into his place. In the wake of that thought darker ones aroused in the back of his mind. He threw himself back against the backrest of the couch and slapped his arm over his eyes. That wasn't how he had imagined his life. It wasn't like he had had a clear plan but he was sure that this was wrong. He hadn't expected to live happily ever after; or to grow old for that matter. But he hadn't thought that one little encounter, just one moment, could change his life so completely.

* * *

"Don't get me started, I'm going to the hotel, pack my things and then I'm outta here." Sadiq said and then laughed a little about Gupta's dry remark. The young Turk fought his way across the market. The air was still cool from last night. He smiled to himself, pondering his today's victory. He sure leeched some good money off of those corrupt Greeks. When they would notice the trap they fell into he'd been long gone. It was a great day. The masses pushed him forward, into a small alleyway. While the locals tried to lure tourists into their shops or convince them to buy souvenirs from the street Sadiq strolled over to a bench. He could as well spend some time here at the lively core of the city. He was rather unknown in Greece; no one, not even the police, would recognize him. The boarding for his flight started in four hours, still plenty of time. He leaned back and closed his eyes, concentrating on the noise around him. From time to time someone would come and try to sell him some useless space-waster of a souvenir but all he had to do was answer in Turkish to chase them away. In a way it was pretty sad that people avoided him just because of his nationality but more importantly to him was: He had some peace and quiet.

That was, until he felt a foreign hand in the pocket of his light jacket. His eyes flew open and out of reflex he grabbed the stranger's wrist, twisting their arm a little. A surprised yelp answered him. Sadiq turned around to see his thief. Behind the bench cowered a young boy and grimaced painfully. He released him from his grip but only to reach further and grab his collar. Then he dragged him around the bench so that they were face to face. Now he could examine his catch. The boy was at most thirteen, probably younger. His cheekbones stood bright against the pale skin of his face, in fact, all of his bones were easy to see. He wasn't even skinny anymore; he was underweight, at least fifteen pounds. His hair was dirty and cut unevenly, as if someone had used a razor to shorten it. Despite his weak appearance and his crouched stance there was a certain fire in his eyes that showed he was still willing to fight. He didn't seem like a runaway but he was homeless for sure. Sadiq wondered what had happened to the child. While he looked at the Greek a mild feeling of pity raised its head inside him. He let go of his filthy shirt but had to grasp his shoulders when the kid tried to take the chance and run for it. He reminded him of himself in a way. Maybe it was due to his good mood or because of this feeling that he could relate to the stranger's fate that made him ask quietly: "Do you speak English?"

The boy's expression froze for a moment. Then he turned his head away and pressed his lips together. Sadiq took that as a yes. Surprising. He probably had learned the language by listening to tourists or something. If so he was quite a bright one.

"I am Sadiq. What is your name?" He asked slowly, pronouncing every word very clearly. There was a heavy silence but after a while the boy glanced at him with the most reluctant expression the Turk had ever seen and grumbled something that could have passed for "Heracles". A strange name but he left it alone for his own name wasn't very conventional either. Heracles didn't seem too pleased with the situation, though. The Turk smiled at him to show he meant no harm. The child acknowledged his efforts by giving a low snort, his arms shaking a little. He was so delicate it almost hurt looking at him. The poor creature was nothing but skin and bones.

"Where are your parents?" Sadiq continued his interrogation. That question elicited an odd look of surprise from Heracles. Then he shrugged. The Turk sighed in response. They weren't here and their son was starving so the information was irrelevant anyway. Sadiq wouldn't call them if he knew where they were. By now he was truly feeling sorry for the kid. He had something of a lost kitten; he just _had_ to take care of him. Heracles was obviously confused. Again he tried to fight Sadiq's hands off. It was endearing how he kept struggling even though he knew he didn't stand a chance; it showed he had a strong will and made Sadiq coo calming words in both, English and Turkish. Finally the young Greek looked at him, unleashing the full force of his azure, ocean green gaze. Never before had he seen such eyes. Their color seemed to constantly range from green to blue, with intriguing flecks wildly dancing in it. There was something special about this boy, a mystery that needed to be solved, and it didn't let Sadiq pull away. He knew he should let go now and move on, maybe give Heracles some money. He couldn't. Those big eyes, framed by thick, long eyelashes, drew him in and he didn't even put up a fight. Before he knew it he had risen to his feet and drawn his wallet from his pocket. He held it up and looked at Heracles. "Let's go and eat something. My treat."

The boy looked completely baffled, he could tell from the way his jaw dropped. The Greek clearly couldn't believe his ears. Sadiq rather enjoyed that feeling of doing something decent. It wasn't anything he'd like to do on a daily basis but the way Heracles eyed him hopefully, somehow got straight to his heart. What was with that boy that made him melt on the spot? Whatever it was he wanted it and he would have it.

So he took Heracles to a small snack bar nearby and bought him his first proper meal in three years, as he later learned. The Greek wasn't very eager to share his memories or thoughts, though, and whenever Sadiq brought his parents up the boy would shrink away. There was something else he noticed. Heracles didn't smile. He had quite good manners for a street urchin but he wouldn't smile once. At first it didn't bother the Turk, later it bugged him a little, by the end of the day he was trying everything he could think of to see at least the tiniest grin. The longer Heracles withheld it from him the more he wanted it and that unsettled him. His plane had left the airport hours ago but Sadiq had made up his mind. He would take Heracles with him and give him the home and affection he deserved. He had no idea what caused those feelings within him but he didn't question them either. He had to admit, he was entirely smitten with that young Greek. He was mature for his age, but that was what the street did to you. He apparently liked cats a lot, considering how often he mentioned them in the very few sentences he spoke. He was proud, too, and Sadiq couldn't help but admire his strength. Many would have given up long ago, but not this one, not Heracles. That needed to be rewarded. So the Turk took him home, fed him, raised him, made him a part, a very important part, of his life. It didn't take him long to realize that he had fallen in love with Heracles. At first he felt sick to the core. It was hard to accept that he was most likely gay or bi, at least; in fact, he struggled quite some time with it. After that hurdle was taken something else came to his mind: Heracles' age. He was so young, surely at least seven years younger than him. Did that make him a pedophile? He refused to answer that question. He felt unsure, embarrassed and dirty. But those feelings ceased with every day the Greek grew older, everyday he would something else that made Sadiq's heart ache for him more than ever before. He just loved him so much, everything about him. Sometimes he was convinced that he had fallen for him the second he had first seen him. It was an all-consuming feeling, he adored everything Heracles did. He loved him and it drove him mad. Often he would throw tantrums and hit random things when his desire became too much to handle. Sadiq did his best, though. He controlled his emotions around Heracles as much as possible. He didn't want to scare him away. Yet the sheer impossibility of the situation was pushing him over the edge. The years went by and not once did Heracles as much as smile at him. Sadiq was a selfish and jealous man. He kept the Greek for himself, didn't let him see other people, fearing he might take more interest in them than in him. All his efforts were in vain, though. Heracles didn't love him and nothing would change that. The night he accepted this was the night he snapped. That night his life fell apart.

* * *

Heracles raised his head when he heard the door handle move. There was none on their side of the door so that meant someone was about to enter. He had searched for a weapon or tool of some sort before but it had been no use. Not that he was in the shape to win a fight. The pain had resurfaced during the night as the drugs had worn off. He watched the door swing open, determined to stay calm and indifferent. If he lost his temper there would be no way he could gather enough information to get out of here. Therefore his expression didn't change when a tall Russian man entered the room with a cheerful smile. "Good morning, my guests. I hope you had a pleasant night." He chirped. Sadiq greeted him with a cascade of insults and jumped to his feet. Heracles just held his hands up to stop him and turned around. "Good morning, Mr. Braginsky." That earned him a disbelieving look from the Turk but he didn't react to it. He had planned to at least keep his dignity if not his freedom. Pleased by the civilized behavior of the Greek Ivan straightened up and clapped his hand together. His weird eyes examined the two of them thoroughly, probably checking for any new injuries while Sadiq sat back down; his leg was hurt. Seemingly satisfied with the result he said: "I'm glad you two get along. Since you are behaving so well, I will start the experiments today. I hope you will enjoy them." A hint of innocent insecurity stole into his voice and he smiled shyly, as if he wasn't convinced by his own preparations. Heracles' gaze darkened but he didn't respond, neither did Sadiq. The Russian looked back and forth between them for a short moment, then he lifted his large hand and pointed his finger at the Grecian man. "You will go first. Come with me." He said in a polite, yet threatening manner and turned for the door again. Heracles submitted to his fate and got to his feet slowly. He fixed a superior expression on his face and straightened up. Ivan led him down the corridor to the elevator. During their journey downwards not a word was spoken. Heracles kept glancing at his companion. He wore a placid smile but apparently stared at nothing particular with his wild violet eyes. The dark glowing in those irises made his spine tingle uncomfortably. He rather concentrated on his surroundings. They were walking down a hall that ended in two double swing doors. Behind them a naked concrete stairway led down into uncertain blackness. Before he took another step the Greek asked: "What are you going to do with him?"

Ivan looked up. "We'll just talk a little." He assured him with a smile. The way he said it didn't calm him down at all. There was no reason to be calm, after all. But Heracles kept a stiff upper lip and deliberately slowed his breathing down. "Alright."

Ivan almost skipped down the stairs then and showed him a narrow corridor with rather dim lighting. They turned a corner and ended up before a dark metal door. The Russian opened it and gestured inside, "After you." What normally would have been a condescending or gloating remark held no hostility when the northern man said it. It seemed Ivan really just tried to be polite. It was a strange thought.

The room was very narrow, two small couches and a low casual table made up the core of it. The light wasn't any better here. At the Greek's suspicious look Ivan hurried to explain: "I've learned that people are more comfortable speaking when they don't feel watched. This is the perfect refuge."

Heracles had to admit that he felt a little safer here, even with the Russian in close proximity. He motioned him to sit down and then took a seat opposite of him. From beneath the table Ivan took a glass and a faceless bottle. When he uncapped it the sharp smell of alcohol invaded the Grecian's nostrils. At once he sat up. Suddenly his throat felt parched. "What is that?" He eyed the clear fluid eagerly. The Russian smiled happily in response. "I already heard you appreciated a good drink. This is vodka. Don't worry. It's all yours." He replied as he poured some of the Russian beverage into the cup. Heracles took it without hesitation. He had been so stuffed with drugs and overwhelmed by the events that he had totally forgotten how thirsty he actually was; and it was that kind of thirst water couldn't quench. With an almost lustful gaze he downed the drink and gave a low hiss when the alcohol burnt his tongue and throat. "Oh yes…" He whispered hoarsely. He had missed that. It wasn't quite his taste but that wasn't the important thing. At least it was some kind of alcoholic drink. Now he felt better. His fingers wound around the slim neck of the bottle and he pulled it closer. He didn't care that the Russian madman was watching him with the weirdest grin. "You wanted to talk, now talk." Heracles muttered while he served himself more vodka.

"Yes." Ivan nodded and leaned back. "But don't you want to ask questions first?" He wondered. The other shook his head and answered nonchalantly: "The only thing I care about is getting out of here. Your reasons or plans don't matter to me."

"That's a healthy attitude. Keep your eyes on the goal… even though you will never reach it." He added with a sneer. "Fine. Let's talk. Do you hate Sadiq?"

The question came out of the blue. At the Turk's name Heracles choked a little. Coughing he put the glass down. "What kind of a first question is that?"

"Just answer."

He sighed grudgingly. "Yes, I hate him. Isn't that obvious?" His hand reached for the glass again.

The next question came at once, "Why do you hate him?"

"Why?" Heracles blinked. He often forgot that not everyone instantly knew what that Turkish bastard was like. "He is a sick and perverted man –no, animal is more fitting. He is manipulative and brutal. He is a monster. He deserves nothing but hatred for the things he did to me." He answered reluctantly. He already didn't like the path this conversation was taking.

"He saved your life, though." Ivan interjected thoughtfully. He really had done his homework, hadn't he?

"Yes." The Greek hissed hostilely. "So that I could become his little pet!"

"So you don't think he just wanted to help you?"

"No." Heracles swallowed the insults he still had in store together with a big gulp of vodka. Ivan nodded. "I see. But I heard you were quite close when you lived with him." He lowered his voice. The sheer thought of it brought up the feeling Heracles hated the most when it came to Adnan. He had felt so goddamn, so endlessly betrayed. If he allowed it he would still feel that way today. But luckily he had buried those self-damaging, dangerous feelings beneath a load of burning hatred, so it didn't matter at all.

"Lies." Heracles spat. "I hated that bastard since the moment I saw him."

"Why? When you first met him you didn't have a reason to hate him." The Russian held up his finger with a half-confused, half-curious expression. Sadly, that made sense. Heracles took another sip from his cup to buy some time. "Maybe I didn't hate him right away. I was just a child back then. But I never liked him."

"You sound like you are trying to defend yourself. Do you know that?"

"I am not." More vodka found its way into the Greek's mouth. His companion smiled vilely, sensing the lie and clearly taking pleasure in his struggle. At that sight Heracles remembered who he was talking to. This man was holding him captive, he was going to experiment with him, whatever that meant. How could he let his guard down like that? He glanced at the vodka bottle in front of him. Was there a drug in it? It wouldn't surprise him. Ivan was knowingly caging him with the person that had ruined his entire life and then didn't allow him to kill him. It was a torture within a torture. Of course he wouldn't hesitate to kill him by mixing drugs and alcohol. Heracles flinched away from him and turned his gaze to the cup in his hands. His thoughts were spinning in circles, he had difficulties grabbing just one of them and holding on to it. Sweat gathered on his forehead.

"Do you want more?" Heracles looked up when Ivan offered him a new bottle. Now he noticed that the other one was as good as empty. When had he drunk all this? He slowly shook his head, despite the aching in his throat. "Fine", Ivan said but put the bottle down right in front of him. "Gupta told me Sadiq raped you-"

"_Shut up!" _

Suddenly Heracles was on his feet, glaring daggers at the Russian. His whole body was tensed, eyes widened. "Shut up." He repeated, a little calmer now. It was too late, though. No amount of alcohol could have prevented what was coming now. The memory hit him like wrecking ball. He was frozen in place, hands trembling helplessly. He couldn't run from his own thoughts, neither could he hide.

"Sit down." Ivan instructed.

"No." Heracles hissed. "I don't give a fuck what you'll do to me. I will not talk about that. You hear me?" He added a few curses in Greek and then stormed towards the door. When he tried to yank it open it didn't budge, though.

"Really" Ivan chirped from behind him. "How did you make it to the top of Greece's criminal world if your first reaction is to run away?"

In response Heracles whirled around, staggering a little. The alcohol was getting to him. "Fuck yourself! You have no idea what I went through!"

The Russian rose to his feet slowly and his voice was as cold as ice when he spoke. "You trusted him and he betrayed you. He raped you and he loved it. He shattered your idolized image of him. The physical pain was almost unbearable and the humiliation was even worse. You felt sick and dirty. Used. You still do. Damage was done that cannot be repaired. You probably will never trust another person ever again. You can't sleep well at night because the memory doesn't fade away, you have to drown yourself in alcohol to have some peaceful hours. Now you are forced to be so close to Adnan that it practically tears you apart. You want to kill him for what he did to you but you know that wouldn't change anything. But your longing for this senseless revenge doesn't leave enough space for other things and that's why you haven't had one relationship so far, you can't bear to be close to other people. I am sure every therapist would love you. You are a psychic wreck. …To sum it up: He broke you."

Heracles stared at him for a long moment. Then he returned to his seat slowly and sat back down.

"Good boy." The Russian praised him and patted his head, the way he had done it the first time they had met. "But now, the talking part is over."

"What…?" Before the Greek could gather his thoughts a fist collided with his face.


	10. Chapter 10

"Get away from me!"

"I'm not trying to- Hey!"

Sadiq tried to grab the struggling Greek and still his trembling body somehow but all he earned from it was a few kicks and disoriented punches. When he had been returned to their prison he had been nothing but a sobbing wreck. Tears had been streaming down his face, still were, and nervous shivers had shaken his frame. The two men who had brought him in had always been forced to carry him for he refused to move his legs. The Turk quickly understood that he couldn't. When the Russian's minions tossed Heracles into the room there eyes were on Sadiq and for a short, gut-freezing moment he had been convinced that they would do the same to him now; that they would take him to the dark place Heracles' mind was still caught in. He couldn't even imagine what had been done to the once so proud and cold man. Now he resembled more a terrified child, scared of absolutely everything. Well, maybe not everything. But scared of him for sure. The Turk slowly approached him again after the Greek had fled into a far corner of the room, hugging himself with his face to the wall. It was the creepiest thing he had ever seen. The man rocked back and forth on, humming to himself with a broken voice, always interrupted by the sound of him crying. Holy fuck, what had they done to him?

"Heracles," Sadiq tried to get his attention but his eyes were practically glued to the wall. "Heracles, can ya hear me?" He asked him, trying to speak as softly as he possibly could. The other didn't respond to him he just hummed louder. Apparently he didn't want to interact with him. A mean, spiteful part of him was about to turn away again. If he didn't want to talk to him, fine! But at the same time he saw this pile of sobbing nothingness that once had been such a strong, self-confident man. He felt as though he needed to protect him, a left-over from his time as his caretaker. He truly just seemed like a child. Sadiq's expression softened a little as pity swept over him. "You need to tell me what happened. Did he hurt you?" He tried to lure some words out of the Greek. There was another reason why he had to get Heracles to tell him what had happened. He knew he would be next and he didn't want to end up like him. So he needed to be prepared for something that was able to reduce his old charge and enemy to… _this_. Heracles had ceased moving and didn't make a sound. Sadiq saw his chance and slowly put a hand on his shoulder. The man flinched away brutally, almost jumping against the other wall.

"Calm down!" The Turk held up his hands, showing him that he was unarmed. He felt like he was encountering a cornered wild animal. "I won't hurt you. I won't touch you, okay? You're safe. Everything's fine."

"Everything's fine…" The Greek echoed hollowly, apparently without grasping the meaning of those words.

"Yes. Yes, everything's fine." Of course it wasn't. It was far from fine. It was just one of those lies adults told to children to make them feel better. It worked. Heracles slowly relaxed his shoulders and then his arms and eventually turned his head around, gazing at him. He had never seen such an expression before. His eyes were widened but empty, his mouth relaxed but the teeth behind his lips clenched tightly as though he was in great pain. He was ashen-faced, too. He looked as though he was sick. "Heracles, did he hurt you?" He repeated his question with a stern voice.

This time the Greek nodded. Aside from a few bruises on his face and neck he couldn't detect anything, though. Sadiq let his eyes wander again until he noticed his arms. There were more bruises after all. Dark violet spots covered his forearms, blossoming around tiny plasters.

"Fuck" cursed Sadiq and stared at the lost face of Heracles again. "You're on drugs!" No wonder he behaved so weirdly. They must have given him quite the exotic mix to elicit such a strong reaction from him. At his exclamation the Greek covered his ears, sobbing once more. "No, no, no." Sadiq grabbed his hands and pulled them away from his head. "It's fine. Everything's fine. You're safe." He continued his chants as he slowly pulled the other man up with him. He staggered and stumbled against him. The Turk looked around, contemplating if he could get him over to the bed or if should just settle for the couch. His malicious side snarled that he could just leave the whimpering shadow of a man on the floor where he found him. Surely he wouldn't care. No, he was better than that; even though this was his enemy. So he dragged Heracles, all of his uncooperative 160 pounds, over to the bedroom. There he let him fall on the mattress where he instantly curled up on the side, shivering as though he was cold despite it being about thirty degrees in here. Or was that just Sadiq? Just when he wanted to leave again, giving the other some time to calm down and get off the drugs, Heracles gave a high needy noise. The Turk stopped in his tracks. Then he heard it again.

"Sadiq…"

The brat was asking for him? Was he already asleep? No. When he took a closer look he saw the dilated blue eyes staring right at him.

"What?" He asked him carefully.

"Don't leave me." Came the whispered reply.

Oh, that guy was just that fucking high, wasn't he?

"You're confused and probably got quite a few hits on your head. Just sleep already." The Turk reached for the door. As soon as he touched the doorknob a shrill cry exploded in his ears. He whirled around to see Heracles sitting straight in his bed, clawing the sides of his head and screaming at the top of his lungs. It sounded as though someone was tearing him apart. The sound shocked him more than anything. Never before had he heard something so disturbingly painful and scared. That was the moment he realized just what was going on. They weren't here to fight each other. They weren't here to kill each other . They weren't here to save their own skin respectively. No matter what had happened in their past and between them… This was so much worse. Ivan had hurt Heracles more than Sadiq could ever dream of. Maybe by means not unlike his own but that wasn't important. The Greek grew silent again, yet his mouth stayed open for another scream to leave it at any time.

"Ah fuck." Sadiq dashed back to his side, kneeling on the mattress after a moment, and grabbed the man's shoulders. Then he pulled him into a tight hug, trying to keep him from falling apart. The Greek in his arms choked painfully but didn't push him away. Trembling and crying as he was, the Turk wouldn't have let him. "Listen to me, boy. Only to me now. We're gonna get through this. We're gonna get outta here and we're gonna live. And then we can go back to hunting each other if we must. It's okay. You're not alone anymore." He murmured solemnly, his fingers threading themselves into his brown locks, damp with sweat. The man who had his face buried in his shoulder stayed silent. Hopefully, he was listening to him and agreeing. Sadiq could tell by the way Heracles' clung to him that he didn't mind. They had hurt each other, betrayed each other, they were so completely destroyed by each other's hands. And suddenly all of it didn't matter anymore. They needed new priorities. They were each other's life insurance. And for fuck's sake, he would protect Heracles as well as he could.

For the better or the worse.

* * *

"Who are we supposed to meet here anyway?" The Italian muttered under his breath as he trotted after his two companions. Antonio gave him a confident smile as he explained, glancing over his shoulder: "Liz has looked through Adnan's contacts. We compared the lists and found an organization both, Adnan and Senor Karpusi, have stayed in touch with for a while. We hope it is the link we need to find who is behind their disappearance." Every single word the Spaniard uttered was like a punch to his stomach.

Liz.

He called that woman, that beast, that monster and murderer of his brother, _Liz_. _They _compared the lists. _They _hope. Antonio probably didn't even notice how much he hurt him. Or, what would be worse, he didn't care. Who did he think he was?

The trio walked through the entry hall of a luxurious hotel and was shown to the suit in which they were supposed to wait for the other party of this meeting. The room was even more pompous than the hallway and foyer. Little flames flickered in the fire place near the big sofa. Expensive carpets covered the floor, perfectly matching the colors of the furniture. Everything looked so breakable that none of them knew where they were supposed to sit. The clogs in Antonio's hands found a place on the bookshelf next to a small couch where he sat down. The Hungarian woman folded her arms and leaned against the wall not too far away and he sat down next to Spaniard, not letting go of his gun. It took half an hour until the door opened once more and two women entered the room, followed by a man. They were Asian by looks, their hair dark and thick. They were short even for Mediterranean standards. All of them seemed to be in their twenties, too young to run a company of the size Elizaveta had talked about. Or the actual head of it had died and they were the heirs.

"Good day." The man greeted them with a nod. They returned the gesture but stayed silent until the others had taken a seat. Surprisingly the females stayed where they were.

"You have called us because of our clients Adnan and Karpusi." The male, apparently the leader, opened the conversation. Antonio nodded and answered: "Yes. We wish to know what kind of business you have with them."

"Why should we tell you about it? Despite your last names we know nothing about you." The other said coldly. Their suspicion was justified the Spaniard had to admit.

"We are their co-workers. And to be fair, despite your company's name we know nothing about you either."

"My name is Jiang Lee. This is Mei-Mei and Linh." He pointed at the two women. "Now you know more."

Elizaveta gave a low chuckle at that. "Could we cut the foreplay and get to the juicy bit now? Can you give us the information we need or not?"

"Why should we?" He looked at her as if he was surprised she wasn't a mute; or had the guts to speak up.

"Can you?" She pressed.

"Yes, of course."

"Will you?"

"Depends on what we get in exchange. Adnan and Karpusi are very good customers and partners of great value for us. We would feel very cheap to give them away just like that."

"They have disappeared." Antonio commented. "We need to find them."

The women shared a little glance at that but Antonio didn't seem to notice. "What makes you so certain that they aren't dead?" Mei-Mei, the younger girl, said slowly. Lee shot her a warning glance.

"Their bodies would have turned up somewhere. And besides, our bosses are not the kind that just dies without a grand exit."

"So you have no facts. Only wishful thinking and assumptions." The Chinese man scoffed. Elizaveta answered sharply: "That is why we are here. To change that. Will you cooperate now or do we have turn your little dolls into Swiss cheese first?" The three Asians remained composed, unimpressed by the Hungarian's threat. However, Romano noticed how Lee's eyes twitched to the sides, looking at the women. He leaned forward, resting elbows on his knees as he tented his fingers. "We will give you all information we have if we get something from you in return." He said slowly.

"Which would be?" Antonio' voice dropped an octave. The Chinaman's expression was unreadable when he answered: "Our oldest brother has disappeared as well. Just a few months ago. Help us find him and we'll help you find your friends."

"We aren't friends." Elizaveta and Romano retorted simultaneously before glaring at each other for a moment. No second later the Spaniard nodded, extending his hand. "Deal."

The Italian's glare shifted to him. "Deal? Stop making deals with every bastard we come across!" He hissed. "You don't know shit about those guys." His reasoning was in vain, though. Lee already had shaken the offered hand.

Lee and Mei-Mei, siblings they later learned, had two older brothers and one younger. Their mothers were never the same, yet they stuck together as any family would. Their father had died ten years ago and since then the eldest, Yao Wang, had taken care of them. Now he had disappeared into thin air, as though swallowed by the ground beneath his feet. He had inherited the company from their father as well as his position among the Triads. It wasn't too surprising that someone like him, even though not too young and inexperienced, would become victim to assassination. Still, his siblings were convinced that he wasn't dead; just as convinced as Antonio and Elizaveta were. The second in ranking, Kiku, had taken over the company and for a good portion of time Lee and their youngest brother, Yong Soo, had been convinced that he had something to do with Yao's disappearance.

"They didn't get along well." Mei-Mei said quietly, talking to Romano and Elizaveta while Antonio, Lee and Linh(a close friend of the family, they assumed) negotiated and talked their next steps through. The alliance was unstable and nowhere near trustworthy, but it was a start. "As soon as Kiku heard about Brother's fate he had claimed his position. I do believe, though, that deep down he is worried as well. He just doesn't want to let Father down by neglecting the company." She explained. "We haven't heard from him in a while now, too, though." The young woman lowered her dark gaze, a perfect picture of grief. She looked so fragile and soft and simply heart-broken that it was hard not to give her a hug.

Romano shook his head, only listening with one ear. He wasn't interested in the intern family structures of this bunch. Not much that was going on lately, ever since he had gone to Turkey, had interested him greatly. It just wasn't his business. He didn't want to fight an epic battle against the archenemy of some guy he worked for. He didn't want to search valleys and hills for that guy either. He didn't care about Karpusi. All he had done was following Antonio. And what had that given him? His brother was dead, he was in an alliance with his murderer and now had to go on a risky rescue mission with no guarantee of success or his survival. If only he had paid more attention in school, he thought. He could have had a house and family by now, maybe a good enough job. But no. Instead he sat in a hotel room in Thessaloniki together with a group of strangers; one more dangerous than the other, and the only person he thought he could trust was betraying him again and again. How was this worth it?

* * *

When he awoke he thought he was still in Athens, getting rudely torn from sleep by a hangover. Pain pulsed between his temples, threatening to burst his skull in two. His legs and arms hurt as well as his nose and teeth. All in all he was just a bundle of throbbing and aching body parts. A metallic taste filled his mouth and made his stomach churn yet he didn't move. Even though his insides seemed to be in a state of total chaos outside of his body there was warmth and comfort. A soft blanket was wrapped around his body and his head rested on a cool pillow which helped to soothe his headache. The next thing he noticed was the weight of and arm around him and continuous sound of breathing right next to his ear. His brain grasped the pieces of information he could offer yet didn't try to understand them. His impressions and little discoveries about the situation just hung uselessly in his mind with no connection or context. The Greek moved a little to maybe get a reaction from the person next to him. It wasn't unusual for him to wake up next to a stranger but usually his bedmates weren't of this format. By now he was almost positive that whoever was in his bed was male. He groaned inwardly. If Antonio had pulled a prank on him he'd castrate that damn Spaniard!

The body next to him was warm, almost too warm, and it didn't respond to Heracles' hesitant attempts of retreat. He was greatly confused; his memories weren't really helpful for all they could offer were some disturbing images of nightmares. Monsters had grabbed at him and torn at his flesh. He remembered the shadows growing around him until he was caught in darkness. He had been so absolutely, so entirely afraid. He had felt loving touches and hateful claws on his body. And every once in a while Adnan's face would appear among the monsters but not join their ranks. The darkest of all creatures in his life, the demon who had hunted him for years, was now his savior. In his dream Sadiq had pulled him away from the taunting voices and ugly grimaces dancing in his head. He remembered how the Turk had torn him from his torture and wrapped his arms around him protectively like angel wings. In his darkest hour, when he saw his mother burn in the flames of the fire he had caused, when he heard her screams, begging for help he couldn't bring her, when his heart broke again and again, when he faced every single monster of his past, Sadiq had been there with him. The idea was so grotesque that he didn't even question it. Only his twisted, sadistic mind could have come up with such a dream to torture him with at night. After another couple of minutes he decided to open his eyes. And then he found himself in the arms of the last person he would have thought possible. Sadiq Adnan was it who had his arm around him in a protective fashion and pressed him against his body as though to make sure he wouldn't go away. Heracles widened his eyes in shock and disbelief. Then he shoved the Turk off the mattress. His mind, even though not yet completely functioning, was still well enough to understand that this was wrong. An impossibility. How the hell did they end up in one bed? And in this position! He couldn't explain it to himself and he didn't want to either.

Sadiq fell to the floor, hitting the back of his head on the counter in the process. He groaned and then cursed, still half-asleep. "What the fuck…?" He muttered angrily and sat up again. When he saw Heracles on the bed, staring at him with accusing and hateful eyes, his shoulders relaxed and his expression went blank. "Oh." Was all he said.

Oh?

_Oh?_

"How dare you filthy dog touch me!" The Greek roared, instantly hissing when his headache protested against the noise.

"Fuck you, too." Sadiq snarled as he got to his feet. "You wanted me to, okay?" He barked. "Well, not like that." He hurried to add when he saw Heracles' face. He wasn't sure what expression he was wearing but it must have been scary enough to make the Turk retreat. That gave him a small feeling of superiority.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" He asked him then, eyes narrowed. So he had missed something. He knew there was a huge chunk of his memories missing. Instead there was that long, horrid nightmare, starring Sadiq. He shuddered and quickly shook his head, suspicion clear to see in his eyes.

"Look at your arms." The other instructed curtly. As he did so he saw the big black and blue bruises on his forearm right were his veins were. Small plasters covered their centers. "What the…?" He stared blankly at his arms.

"Ivan took you with him, remember that?" Sadiq growled. Heracles blinked.

Yes. Yes, he remembered.

He had been walking down a hallway with him. They had been in a dark room and he had been offered vodka. They had talked about stuff… Pain pierced his head again, as though it was refusing to let this memory back inside. He held his forehead and nodded quickly.

"No fucking idea what went down after he brought you away but when ya came back you were a total wreck. It was fucking creepy. I thought I'd have to exorcise your ass." The Turk complained but the way he shook his head clearly showed how worried he had been. Or at least he hadn't completely indifferent. It was oddly touching to see his sworn enemy care for him. But Sadiq had always been the more emotional of them; often at others' expense.

"You brought me to bed?" He asked, unhappy with how that question came out. The other snorted. "Yeah. And ya didn't want me to leave again so I stayed."

"Yeah, right." The Greek barked a laugh at the idea. Instead of a snide remark or condescending chuckle Sadiq just looked at him in heavy silence. Heracles stared back at him, "What is it?"

"We need to talk." He said. The words sounded so intimate and careful, so completely unlike everything the man had ever uttered in his presence, that the Greek leaned away a bit. Heracles frowned. "About?"

"You understand what is happening here, right? They're using us as guinea pigs. We've become lab rats in some fucked up social-scientific experiment." Sadiq's voice was grave and dark, it sounded like it came from inside a tomb.

"Yes, I know." He answered slowly, rubbing his bruised arm a little. "Old news."

"Heracles," The Greek looked up when the other said his name in a husky tone. "We need to survive this shit. You and I. Either both of us live or none of us will. You get that?"

He gazed at the man with a blank face, nodding once to show he understood. Ivan had said something similar to that.

"We gotta stick together for now. The Russian will come back and probably he'll come for me next time. When I return… Help me." It wasn't an order even though Heracles was convinced he had tried to make it sound like one. He couldn't expect anything from the Greek and he knew it.

"When you came back they had to drag you in because you couldn't walk anymore." He continued. "You weren't yourself. You cried and screamed and all that shit." He leaned closer. "I have no idea what Ivan did to you… But you gotta understand what he is capable of. We _need_ to stay sane, okay? It's important."

There were a lot of comments he could have made but he bit his tongue. This wasn't the time or place.

"You know that I hate you, right? If I could I'd leave you here and walk away." Heracles said, as though to remind him who he was talking to. The Turk's expression remained the same except for the light twitch of the corner of his mouth. His answer was firm and delivered with a smile.

"Yes, I know. I hate you, too."


End file.
